The Magnificent Seven and the Snowglobe of Death
by theofoz
Summary: The first generation born after the war is ready to start Hogwarts, but Professors Longbottom and Zabini find there are dark secrets behind some of the bright young faces. One of their protégés, Cathal Hughes, an Irish boy who literally pulses with power, finds adventure, friendship, enemies, and a terrible legacy. Voldemort is not done yet - not by a longshot.
1. Chapter 1: Foggy Dew

_**AN: Greetings! This is a cursed child prequel/AU. I've been writing this with my friend Pheas, and it's going to be a long story! We do know how it ends, so if it looks as though we won't be able to finish it, we'll post an epilogue. We'll be posting chapters at a steady clip at first... Please R &R - suggestions welcome.**_

Neville looked around quickly before dabbing at his dripping nose with the edge of his red and gold tartan scarf. It seemed impossible that anyplace on Earth could be gloomier than Scotland, but this forsaken corner of Ireland was certainly trying.

He frowned down at the tassels on his scarf. His boss, Headmistress McGonagall, would not be pleased to know he abused her last Christmas gift in such a fashion.

"What she doesn't know..." He muttered, stopping abruptly as a slick stone wall rose before him out of the mist.

"Blimey," he exclaimed softly. The wall extended above him as far as he could see, and stretched out into the fog in either direction. There were no doors, no windows. Not that he could tell, at any rate.

But Neville Longbottom hadn't spent most of his life in Hogwart's for nothing: he had long ago grown accustomed to castles with a mind of their own.

He bowed his head slightly, wand held loosely in his outstretched palm.

"Professor Longbottom of Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, here to see Mr. Cathal Hughes. I have an appointment." When nothing immediately happened, he hesitantly reached forward and pressed his hand against the wall.

Still, nothing happened.

Neville pursed his lips and looked thoughtfully at the wall.

"Alohomora," he said softly, moving his wand slightly. Still, no change. He tried several other spells, but the wall never budged.

Neville pulled his long hair back and tied it with a leather band he kept in his pocket and stared at the gray stone, lips pursed thoughtfully. He pulled a piece of parchment from his robes and examined it closely.

"Definitely in the right place," he sighed. "Oh, come on, then. Just open, won't you, please?"

As soon as the word "please" left his lips, an enormous pair of brass-edged, dark wooden doors appeared in the wall. Neville chuckled, examining the door knocker, which looked distinctly like the ghost of Jacob Marley, only instead of groaning and rattling its chains, the face winked at him and tipped its hat.

"Funny," he snorted, lifting the knocker and letting it fall. The door promptly opened, and he stepped into the darkness beyond. His second step, however, took him straight into a brightly lit room, with a fire burning merrily in the hearth. An elderly couple, sitting in matching, overstuffed armchairs, looked up at him in surprise.

"Oh dear," the woman said, taking her glasses off her nose. "We've lost track of the time, Mr. Hughes."

"Indeed, Mrs. Hughes," the man responded cheerfully, struggling to his feet and dropping his newspaper behind him onto the chair. "You must be Professor Longbutton, isn't it? We actually were expecting you, though I don't suppose it looks like it."

Neville started to correct the old man about his name, and then decided not to, when the fellow beamed up at him.

"Yes, indeed," he responded. "Though I nearly didn't get past your outer wall."

"Oh pish," the lady said, swatting her husband lightly on the arm. "You forgot to turn off the security system. I am so very sorry, Professor Lingonberry. We're so forgetful these days. I'll just fetch young Cathal for you."

"Thank you," Neville said after her retreating form, deciding that Lingonberry had a nice ring to it.

"Did you have a good trip over?" Mr. Hughes asked pleasantly, looking over his reading glasses at Neville.

"Er, yes, thank you," Neville responded awkwardly, given that he had not traveled by muggle means.

"I know apparition to this location can be a wee bit rough," the old gentleman continued, to Neville's surprise. He had been told the boy's guardians were muggles. "Not that I would know," he acknowledged, as if hearing Neville's thoughts.

"Ye-sss," Neville responded slowly, "there was some turbulence involved, now that you mention it." He paused, trying to think of a polite way of inquiring about magic, without freaking the man out, should he not actually know about it. "If I may ask, how did you become acquainted with, um, our world, Mr. Hughes?"

The snowy-haired man chuckled, taking off his glasses and wiping his eyes. "Oh, aye," he answered easily, "I've always known, now, haven't I? This is Hughes Castle, and I am, after all a Hughes. Albeit, from the poorer, squib branch of the family, so I'm just the caretaker. But I've been around magic folk all my life."

Neville nodded, opening his mouth to ask more questions, when he stopped suddenly. The skin on his neck crawled, and the hairs on his arms rose on goosepimpled flesh. A wave of magic swept through the room, so strong that Neville could practically taste it, sweet and thick on the tip of his tongue. If it were a color, he thought, it would be burnt umber; a deep rich, reddish brown, like the flames licking off the logs in the fireplace.

"Cathal," the old woman said excitedly, "meet Professor Gongbottom."

"I believe it's 'Longbottom,' Ma," a soft, amused voice responded. "How do you do, Professor?"

Neville nearly gasped; he could actually see the boy's aura, shimmering about him like an oversized halo. Aquamarine eyes, like light on a Caribbean lagoon, looked back at him inquisitively.

"Are you all right, Professor?" The boy asked, brows creased in concern.

"Er, yes, quite," Neville said, hastily clearing his throat. "Quite. Indeed. It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Hughes. I've come to bring you your letter - did your parents explain the situation?"

"Oh, yes," he answered enthusiastically. Aside from the rosy glow and the striking eyes, Cathal Hughes was a handsome child: thick golden brown hair, neatly combed, pale skin, and a rangy frame that suggested the beginning of a growth spurt. When he smiled, which he appeared to do often, a dimple appeared in his right cheek. "I'm to go to Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry! My godmother told me about it when I was little and said I would go when the time came. Is it true there are ghosts? That you can talk to? Most of the ghosts here talk to me all the time, although the portraits never will. Brendan Hughes - he was 3rd Lord Hughes - told me they won't speak to me because they don't think I'm a real Hughes, but he says I am." This was all said in single breathless rush, which stopped abruptly.

"Sorry," the boy muttered, blushing. "I was going on, wasn't I?"

Neville smiled at him gently. "Most of the ghosts will talk to you," he responded, "though there's one or two you'd probably rather wouldn't. But most of them are quite nice."

Cathal beamed up at him.

"Are you really a professor? What do you teach?"

"Herbology," Neville responded, "the study of magical plants."

"Oh," Cathal exclaimed, putting a hand to his chest, "we have a magical greenhouse right here! We try our best to take care of everything, you know, but my parents and I, we're not always sure what to do..." He trailed off uncertainly.

"I'd be glad to take a look before I go," Neville answered the unasked question reassuringly. "But why don't you read your letter first and see if you have any questions."

"Where are my manners," Mrs. Hughes exclaimed. "Won't you sit down, Professor, and have a cup of tea?" She tugged him by the hand toward the pink flowered wingback chair she herself had been occupying, and then all but pushed him into the seat.

"There," She said with satisfaction. "You just rest yourself, dearie, and I'll be right back with tea. Mr. Hughes, give me a hand?"

"Yes, dear," her husband readily agreed, with a friendly wink for his guest.

The room fell silent as Cathal broke the wax seal on his letter and began to read. Neville took the opportunity to study the boy. He made a tiny movement with his hand and whispered a _clarividius_ spell. Neville barely stifled a gasp. Cathal's magic flowed and raced through his body like quicksilver, flaring a warm red at his Qi points, particularly at the base of the skull and the fingers. It was the clearest magical energy flow Neville had ever seen in a child. Really, in anyone.

"Tea's ready!" Came Mrs. Hughes' voice from down the hall. Neville hastily closed the spell, and the light show instantly faded.

"What was that you just did to me?" Cathal was looking at him curiously.

"Wha..what?" Neville asked blankly.

Cathal made a figure eight gesture over his chest. "The lights," he answered. "What do they mean?"

Neville shut his mouth hastily when he realized it was hanging open. The boy should not have been able to see that. "It was a spell to show me the energy flows in your body," he explained apologetically. "Sort of like an x-ray for magic. I'm sorry - it was a bit rude of me, without asking you first."

"That's so cool!" Cathal enthused, as his parents entered the room bearing platters piled high with sandwiches, scones, cups and saucers. Fragrant steam snaked out of a pink teapot. "Ma, Pa," he said excitedly, "the Professor was looking at my magic!"

"Oh?" Said Mr. Hughes. "What did it look like, then?"

'It was very bright, and very fast," Neville said honestly.

"That's our boy," Mrs. Hughes cooed, pinching Cathal's cheek. "Very bright and very fast."

"And loud," Mr. Hughes chuckled. "You forgot loud."

A pleasant tea full of pleasantries followed, also full of Cathal's questions about school, about magic, about Scotland, and occasionally about Neville himself, the latter of which his adoptive parents gently deflected. Finally, Neville sighed and put his teacup down.

"That was delicious, Mrs. Hughes," he smiled. "Thank you for your hospitality."

"Oh, it was nothing," she said, obviously pleased at the praise, "and it's really Mr. Hughes who did most of the work. I'm rubbish with the baking."

"But you make a mean pot of tea," Mr. Hughes qualified.

Neville smiled, pleased that this boy, who already literally glowed with magic, had grown up in such a loving home. "As I explained in my letter, I'll come back again tomorrow," Neville said as he rose, his long frame unbending from the chair, "to take Cathal shopping for his school things."

"We can take him," Mr. Hughes said pleasantly, "no need to trouble yourself, Professor."

"Um, well," Neville hesitated, "I'm afraid he needs magical items. I was planning to take him to London."

"London!" Mrs. Hughes exclaimed. "But that's so far!"

"Not the way they go, dear," her husband said gently, shooting Neville an inquisitive look.

"Cathal," he turned to the boy, "would you please take the dishes to the kitchen?"

The boy narrowed his eyes slightly, and for a moment, Neville thought he might refuse. Instead, he gave a brief nod and muttered an assent, gathering the dishes in a magic-enhanced blur. Neville's eyes widened. It was common for a boy as promising as Cathal to exhibit frequent bouts of accidental magic, but very rare for him to have purposeful control.

The room was silent until Cathal left.

"I will come with you, of course," Mr. Hughes said, and Neville was startled to see that the slightly daffy twinkle was completely gone. "And we will not be leaving Ireland just yet. We can shop just as well in Dublin's magical quadrant."

"Excuse me?" Neville said blankly.

"You examined him," Mr. Hughes said matter-of-factly. "I may be a squib, but I know what a _clarividius_ spell is. And we both know it's not sporting to cast one without the individual's permission, especially with a minor. You overstepped your bounds, Professor Longbottom."

Neville stared at the man, as still as if he were in a total body bind, noticing absently that the older man seemed to have no problem getting his name right now.

"I'm sure you meant well," Mrs. Hughes said softly, patting Neville on the arm. "We can see you're a good man, and the house would not have let you in if you wished Cathal any harm. But we'd prefer Mr. Hughes go along with you tomorrow. No objection?"

"No," Neville said, licking his lips. "Of course not. And I apologize. My curiosity got the better of me. It's just..." Neville hesitated.

"You can see it on him," Mr. Hughes sighed. "I know. I've tried to teach him how to shield his aura, but I just lack the skill and the knowledge."

"I can teach him," Neville said quickly, "if you'll allow me, that is."

The elderly couple shared an entire conversation in the quick glance they exchanged.

"Why don't you stay with us, Professor?" Mr. Hughes responded. "For a couple of days? That way, we can get to know you a little better, and you can help Cathal get ready to start school."

"We would certainly appreciate it, dear," Mrs. Hughes said, patting his arm again, "if you can spare the time."

Neville did a quick mental calculation about how much more work he needed to do before the start of term to be ready for his classes. "I can do that," he agreed. "I'll just need to take care of a few things — I can come back tomorrow, if that sounds good to you."

"Here," Mr. Hughes said, reaching into a drawer along the wall. He held out a metal disc with what looked like a coat of arms carved on it. "It's a portkey," he explained at Neville's blank look. "It'll let you directly into the front hall, and also let you apparate out from there. Easier, and the security system might bounce you this time, in any case, since you performed an unauthorized spell on Cathal."

"It's that sensitive?" Neville was startled, yet again.

The couple just smiled at him.

"Right then," he took the portkey and jumped out of his seat. "I'll be back tomorrow?"

They nodded. "We'll let Cathal know," said Mrs. Hughes, who gestured for Neville to follow her out to the front hall.


	2. Chapter 2: Jug of Punch

Later that night, Neville was out for a drink with Blaise Zabini, who had come to Hogwart's a couple of years before to assist with the Dark Arts. It was supposed to be a temporary arrangement while Professor Verboten recovered from an experiment gone wrong, but Neville suspected the old man had finally been carted off to St. Mungo's for good. Tinkering with Vampiric curse magic was a risky business, to say the least. Neville was secretly relieved, as he'd never much liked the creepy old wizard, who had come out of retirement from some remote magical community in Luxembourg to help out after the war. Or so he had said.

"So, what's on your mind?" Blaise asked him, eying his fellow professor curiously. The two had never been close as schoolmates, of course, but had found when Blaise arrived at Hogwarts that they got on surprisingly well. They were both introverts, with an appreciation for good food and liquor, and a similar, wry sense of humor. They generally could not make eye contact during faculty meetings without laughing at what often seemed inappropriate times to the other professors.

"Hmm? What makes you think something's on my mind?"

"You're staring at your glass with your mouth hanging open, and you keep furrowing your brow and pursing your lips. Either you're reliving something that happened today, or that firewhiskey is a lot more complex than it should be."

Neville sighed. "Yeah, well, I went to deliver a letter to one of the new muggle born students, and it didn't go the way I thought it would."

"Do tell," Blaise said, leaning forward. "Parents got angry and tossed you out?"

"No, nothing like that," he shook his head, "well, not exactly. They weren't too happy with me, though."

"Why? Because they thought you were having them on, or because they don't like magic?"

Neville glanced up at his friend. "I performed a clarividius spell on their son, and they caught me."

Blaise frowned. "They knew what it was?"

Neville nodded.

"I thought you said they were muggles."

"They are, well, not entirely. The old man's a squib and grew up around magic."

"So, what's the big deal? I assume you apologized and all's well that end's well, right?"

"Hmm? Oh, yeah, right. That's not actually what's bothering me. It's the boy. He was...unusual."

"How do you mean? Bit of a brat, was he? Not that that's so unusual these days."

"No, not at all. He was quite a nice child, very friendly, chatty even. But Blaise, I could actually see his aura..." Neville trailed off and Blaise whistled.

"Really? And what did the clarividius show?"

"His flow was bright silver and just racing through his body, and his main chi points were red."

" _Red?"_ Blaise exclaimed. "I've never even heard of that."

"I know."

"You said his father's a squib?"

"Adoptive father, actually. We don't know who his real parents were. Makes you wonder, eh?"

He glanced up at Blaise, who was sitting very still and very straight.

"What?" Neville asked, looking around. "What's wrong?"

Blaise shivered and then shook his head.

"Nothing, mate. Just someone walked over my grave, I guess. I had a weird one today, too, actually. Our letter to this one kid kept getting returned, so I did a locator and delivered it to him personally. Found him just sitting on a park bench in muggle London, and he tried to run when I approached him. I eventually got him to take the letter, and he was very excited. He's full scholarship, so I took him to get all of his gear, and he asked me to keep it for him. Definitely something not right. We're going to need to watch him."

"What's his name?"

"Casper. Casper Sainsbury."

"Muggle?" Neville asked, and Blaise shook his head.

"Supposedly not, but can't figure out who his parents are. Might be a war orphan. Anyway, sounds like we have an interesting year ahead of us. I'll bet you a galleon that this Casper kid and the other one..."

"Cathal Hughes," Neville supplied.

"Cathal Hughes will end up in Slytherin."

"No way. Cathal will be in Griffindor or maybe Hufflepuff, but not Slytherin."

"Shall we make it two galleons?"

"You're on." Neville swigged the last of his firewhiskey.

"Well, I'd better call it a night - I have to go back over there tomorrow and take the kid shopping for his school things. They want me to stay a couple of days to help get him ready for school."

"Is that what has you so worried, then?" Blaise asked, finishing off his own drink and rising from his chair.

"No," Neville sighed, waving at Rosmerta and heading for the door. "They're nice people and all. It'll be fine. I've just never seen anything like it - the boy had full control of his magic and didn't even realize it. I, well, you'll think this is ridiculous, but it still makes me nervous to see that much power in one person, let alone an 11 year old."

"You and me both, mate," Blaise muttered as he followed Neville out the door.


	3. Chapter 3: Paddy on the Train

Cathal said goodbye to Professor Longbottom for what must have been the 18th time. The professor smiled at him and said gently "You really ought to get on the train now with Zahara, Cathal. It will leave in approximately 2 minutes, and you don't want to miss your chance to get to know your new classmates, do you?"

"I should say not," Blaise added, raising his eyebrows at his younger sister, who was standing right behind Cathal, edging toward the train. "Now that I've gone to the trouble of bringing you here from Hogwarts, just so you can go back to Hogwarts." The mysterious Casper, a full head shorter than the other two, stood behind them. He fidgeted nervously with the collar of his plaid shirt, which was at least a size too large for him.

"Everyone rides the train, Blaise," his sister said evenly, rolling her eyes. "I'm getting on right now. Come on, Cathal. You, too, Casper."

"Oh, coming, coming," Cathal said, looking anxiously back over his shoulder as Zahara clambered onto the train, all but dragging Casper behind her. "I'll just be going then." He darted forward and seized Neville's hand, shaking it enthusiastically. "Thank you, thank you so much professor. Thank you again for coming to get me and showing me how to get to the train."

The boy picked up his trunk and lugged it up the stairs, disappearing from sight. Almost immediately, the train began to move. Before it rolled away, Cathal poked his head out the open window of one of the compartments.

"Goodbye! See you soon, Professor!"

Neville smiled and waved until the train was out of sight. Then he sighed and hoped Cathal would be as lucky in his travel companions as Neville himself had been on his first trip to school. Well, he thought, sort of. He'd spent most of the ride terrified that his toad was dead. But other than that, he'd met most of his lifelong friends that day.

"Do you think they're sitting together?" Neville asked Blaise.

"Yes," he answered, "definitely."

Neville looked at his friend curiously, but Blaise just watched the train.

Once the train was out of sight, they nodded at each other and promptly disapparated.

Cathal was just settling into his seat and looking hopefully at the other occupants of his compartment. Zahara Zabini, whom he had just met in the station, was sitting across from him, and Casper, also a new student, was a seat away, leaning against the window.

"Well, that's that, then," she said. "We're off to school."

"Did I hear your Dad say you already live there?" Cathal asked.

Zahara snorted. "He's not my Dad. That's my brother."

Cathal gave her a doubtful look.

"Half brother," she acknowledged. "There's a big age gap. He's a teacher at Hogwarts."

Cathal's mouth dropped open.

But before he could start asking her what it was like to live there, what her brother taught, where she was going to live, and dozens of other questions, the door to the compartment opened, and a tall boy shouldering a large, soft-sided bag struggled in.

"Oh," he said, giving them a big smile, his teeth startlingly white against his brown skin, "is there room in this one? Can I sit with you guys?" His accent was curiously flat, with a slight lilt.

"You may," Zahara said, stressing the grammatically correct word.

"Are you American or something?" Cathal asked the boy, who was tall and broad through the shoulders. He jammed his bag on the rack over Cathal's head and dropped into the seat next to Zahara. Casper watched them all wth a solemn face.

"Canadian," he offered. "I'm Vikram. Vik for short."

"She's Zahara," Cathal pointed to her, "and I'm Cathal. Nice to meet you."

"Casper," the other boy offered quietly.

"I didn't know Americans ever came to Hogwart's," Zahara said suspiciously.

"Canadian," Vik repeated, smiling at her again. "And I'm actually a dual citizen; I was just raised in Canada."

"That's so cool!" Cathal enthused. "I grew up in Ireland, myself."

"Duh," Zahara rolled her eyes. "It's totally obvious, you know."

"Not to me," Vik chuckled. "You people all sound the same."

"So," Cathal broke in, anxious to make a new friend. "Where in Canada did you grow up?"

"Quebec City," Vik answered promptly.

"Is that a muggle city?" Zahara asked, unable to hide her interest, though she tried to look casual. "Non magical," she clarified at Vik's blank look.

Vik shook his head. "It's actually the oldest magical city in North America," he explained. "First settled by wizards in the 17th century. In fact, I hear you have to live separately here and hide yourself from non-magical people. Is that true?"

The other three students nodded.

"Yeah, I know it's that way in the United States, too. But Quebec City is an open city - there's no border between magical and...what is it you people call them?"

"Muggles," Zahara responded, lips pursed. "They know about magic there?"

Vik nodded. "Some of them. Some just don't notice."

She said "weird" just as Cathal said "cool," and they all started to laugh, even Casper.

They talked non-stop for the next hour. Vik had been all ready to start the new school year in Canada when his Hogwart's letter arrived; it was completely unexpected. His father was against his coming to England and really didn't like the idea of boarding school (it was uncommon in Canada). But he had finally relented.

"I guess there's a family tradition," he said. "I have family who live here, and I guess they went to Hogwarts."

"Where are they now?" Cathal asked, and Zahara looked at him sharply.

"I don't know," Vik said. "I've never met them. I think some of them died in the war you had here."

"Oh, uh, I'm sorry - I didn't mean to pry or anything."

"No worries," Vik said. "I don't know them, after all. My family doesn't really talk about it."

"A lot of people died in the war," Zahara said softly.

The compartment fell silent after that. Casper, who had offered no information about himself beyond the fact that he lived in London, stared out the window.

"You guys know any games?" Vik finally asked brightly. "I'm guessing they're different here, so maybe you better teach me."

"Exploding snap?" Zahara asked, eyebrow arched. Vik shook his head, as did Cathal and Casper.

"You, too?" She said in amazement, staring at the other boys.

"My parents are, like, really old," Cathal said holding his hands up, while Casper just shrugged, "and I was home schooled. I'm just as clueless as Vik."

"Hey," Vik laughed.

"Oh, sorry, Vik," Cathal said hurriedly. "I didn't mean it like that."

"But it's true," Zahara sighed. "Fine. Fortunately for all of you, I am an exploding snap master. Watch and learn, gentlemen."

The shadows lengthened in the countryside that flew past the windows, which gradually grew dark. Finally, a prefect stuck her head in the door, telling the four young students to put on their robes. By that point, they all thought they knew at least two things: how to play exploding snap, and that the four of them would be friends.

"Sometimes, you just know," Vik sighed, as they sat forward in their seats excitedly.

"Know what?" Zahara asked him, as Cathal craned his neck to try to see outside.

"Nothing," he answered hurriedly, but Cathal looked at him with a small smile and nodded.


	4. Chapter 4: Green, Green Grass of Home

The train stopped, and the four new friends stepped out into the corridor, into a sea of jostling elbows and chattering voices.

"Watch it," someone snapped.

"Oh, er, sorry about that," Vik said. He had stepped on the foot of a brown-haired boy, who was almost as tall as he was, though not quite as big. The boy narrowed his eyes and stared at Vik, nudging another boy next to him. They exchanged glances.

"Paki, are you?" The brown-haired boy asked Vik.

"Pakistani, you mean?" Vik returned coolly, his smile settling into a more neutral expression. "No, I'm not. I'm Canadian."

"No, I mean really. What are you really?"

"Canadian," Vik repeated.

"We know what you are, Cram," Zahara interrupted, "but I wouldn't want to say it around the children."

"What're you doing hanging out with her?" The boy sneered. "You a death eater, too, then? Never heard of a Paki death eater before."

"I am not a Death Eater," Zahara glowered at the boy. Cathal could feel the air tremble around her, and he glanced down at her hands, noticing with alarm that there were blue sparks dancing between her fingertips. Casper shrank back against the wall of the corridor.

"You leave her alone," Vik growled, stepping between Zahara and the unfriendly boys, who now had their wands out.

"What's this, now?" Interrupted a handsome, red-haired boy, his blue and yellow tie rakishly askew, He appeared so suddenly, the brown-haired boy and his mate stepped back in surprise. "Firsties, fighting before we even get off the train? That must be a new record."

"They started it," the boy retorted, but he was looking uneasily at the older student, who now had his arms draped around the angry boy's shoulders.

"And I finished it," the red-haired boy responded cheerfully. "Go on now," he shooed the two boys away and looked at the four friends.

"Alright then?" He said softly, as they followed him off the train. They all nodded mutely. "Good. Don't let those guys give you any crap. And if they do, come and find me. I'm Bobby. Bobby Weasley. Everyone knows me," he gave them a jaunty smile and a wink, "so I'm not hard to find."

He clapped Vik on the shoulder and strolled off. They watched him go and the boys grinned at each other, before following the crowd toward a group of carriages.

"I can take care of myself, you know," Zahara finally snapped at Vik.

"I don't doubt that," Vik nodded at her. "I was more worried about those other guys."

Zahara made a harrumphing sound and crossed her arms, but there was a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

"Those," Cathal said, stopping abruptly, "have to be the strangest horses I've ever seen."

"What? Oh," Zahara's eyes widened as she followed his glance. "What are those things?"

"Never seen one before," Vik said, not moving forward. Casper stood next to him, jaw hanging open.

An enormous man, who seemed as tall as the four of them would be if they were standing on each other's shoulders, waved at the students milling around outside the train. His bushy gray beard bobbed as he swept his arms out and flicked his fingers away from the carriages.

"First years to the boats," he boomed. "Hurry up now; the professors will be waiting on you."

Just then, the huge, shaggy man caught sight of the three staring students, and his brow furrowed. He ambled over.

"Hello there, Zahara," he said.

"Hello, Hagrid." She didn't take her eyes off the strange creatures, with their sharp-edged spines and empty eye sockets.

"Can you lot see them?" He asked in a stage whisper, jerking his head toward the beasts. Zahara looked at her friends, and they all nodded.

"Blimey," Hagrid exhaled. "I thought that wouldn't happen so much anymore, what with you kids being born after the war and all. Well," he said, raising his voice again, "nothing to worry about." Hagrid beckoned the reluctant children forward.

"This here," he placed a gentle hand on the bony flank of one of the beasts, "is a thestral. Not everyone can see them. Don't mind them - they don't bite. Not usually."

One of the thestrals craned its head around, Vik and Zahara jumping back hastily. Cathal, however, extended his hand out, and the spectral equine rubbed its head against his open palm.

"It's so soft!" he exclaimed. "Like velvet!" The other two students didn't move any closer, however, and Hagrid stared at the boy, open-mouthed.

"Never seen one do tha' before," he finally said. "You got a real knack with them, you do. We keep them out in the Forbidden Forest - you should come by and visit sometime."

Hagrid shook his head. "But 'ere, we're going to be late. You lot don't ride with them this time; you're for the boats. Right this way."

"I can't believe you touched that thing," Zahara muttered as the big man walked away, whistling tunelessly and beckoning them to follow.


	5. Chapter 5: Merry Boys & Hearty Girls

Inside the castle, Neville and Blaise were waiting at the teacher's table in the great hall. The new first years were due at any moment, and soon, the tables filled with the upper classes, laughing and chattering excitedly, happy to be reunited with their friends.

Neville was feeling a bit upbeat, himself. It was his seventh year teaching, and for the first time, he could finally say he really felt ready for the new school year. Blaise was, indeed, a permanent faculty member this year, which also boosted his mood. And he could not help but be curious about which house Cathal Hughes would be sorted into, and not just because he wanted to win his bet. He hoped the boy would be in Gryffindor, where he could keep an eye on him.

His stay at Hughes Castle had been pleasant, but fairly uneventful, much to his surprise - and disappointment, if he was being honest. Cathal had proven to be a quick study, and by the time Neville left, was able to fully cloak his aura. They had cleaned the greenhouse together, and it was a very healthy collection of magical plants, most but not all familiar to him. The plants were remarkably responsive to the boy, and it turned out that there were house elves and they helped care for the plants, as well. But the house elves only took care of plants on one side of the greenhouse - apparently, something on the other side was poisonous to them. He had tried to get one of the creatures - what had her name been? Sally? - to tell him which plant, so he could remove it for them, but she just threw a tea towel over her head and wailed, every time he asked or if he or the boy approached that side of the greenhouse. That would be his research project for this term, to find somewhere in the lore something about which magical plants could possibly be toxic to a house elf.

Neville had also enjoyed his trip to magical Dublin, an area that was called St. Patrick's Square. It was much larger than Diagon Alley, and quite pleasant, full of statues, flowers, and floating water fountains. In fact, you really had to watch where you were going or risk getting soaked. It turned out that Irish wizards are a bit more casual than their English counterparts, so Neville was really the only person walking around in a robe, until he transfigured it into a jumper and jeans. Both Cathal and his father were delighted by absolutely everything they saw; Mr. Hughes had not been there since Cathal was a baby.

"I'm going to win the bet, you know," Blaise said to him, breaking into his thoughts.

"Maybe," Neville acknowledged, "and then again, maybe not."

"Care to raise the stakes?"

"10 galleons, then?"

"You're on," Blaise smiled and took a deep drink of his pumpkin juice.

Just then, the doors flew open and the headmistress marched in, a small herd of very nervous children clustered behind her. Neville noticed approvingly that this class was almost twice the size of last year's; it was nice to see the literal rebirth of their community.

"Come in, come in, children," the headmistress called. "Right this way."

Minerva McGonagall had always secretly loved being the one to usher the new students in, after Hagrid, of course, to get the first glimpse of their potential and their wonder. And so she had kept that particular duty for herself. She looked over the cluster of small, shining heads with an indulgent smile. This would be a good class; she could sense it. Indeed, it felt as though there was a bright bubble of magic welling up all around them, she thought, and then promptly scolded herself for imagining things. This was the very first class born after the defeat of Voldemort, that's all, she told herself. It just made her happy.

"Alright, alright," she called out. "Settle down, please, children." She gave them a moment to compose themselves, before leading them to the stage and gesturing with a small flourish toward the hat, resting on the stool on a low dais. A smile pulled at the corner of her right lip. She liked a touch of Gallic flair now and then.

"Now then," she started, once they had fallen to a whispering hush. "Welcome to back to Hogwart's to all of our returning students, and welcome to you first year students, as well. You will be called alphabetically and you shall mount the stage and sit upon the stool. Then the hat shall be placed on your head, and the hat will sort you into one of our houses. Is that all quite clear?"

Behind her, there was the sound of a throat clearing. She glanced over her shoulder and raised an eyebrow. Items with no throat should not be clearing them, she thought idly.

"Yes, pardon me. It is traditional for the hat to say something, or rather sing something, first."

She tuned out at that point. The hat had been singing precisely the same song every year since the defeat of Voldemort, so she nearly missed it when the hat suddenly broke into an entirely new verse.

 _And so I sing of the houses four_

 _Together as always the future depends_

 _On good fellowship and cheer_

 _But now on the forging of seven friends_

 _Syltherin, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, Gryffindor_

 _Apart the world shall burn_

 _Together with the missing member_

 _The world continues to turn_

The hat abruptly stopped, and the great hall went utterly silent. Minerva suddenly realized she was staring with her mouth hanging wide open, a most unbecoming expression for a headmistress. She snapped her mouth shut.

"Yes, well," she said, "that was...invigorating, as always. Let us begin. Professor Longbottom, if you would call the names, please?" She held out the scroll to her protege, who looked at her in astonishment. She had wanted to surprise him and was pleased to see she had succeeded. He was doing so well, and at such a young age, too; it was high time she gave him some recognition for his hard work.

"Abbot, Margaret," Neville called out in a clear voice, smiling at the young girl, a niece of his classmate and friend, Hannah.

Each child took his or her place in turn, Minerva watching closely. Most of the new students were known to her, of course, or at least their families were. Sadly, there weren't as many muggle born students as there had been before the war, given Voldemort's thoroughness at eliminating families with the potential to produce magical children. She let a small sigh escape her lips. She would wonder to her dying day what that idiot Fudge had been thinking, letting the Department of Mysteries keep a registry of squibs and muggles with magical genes. Well, Fudge never did let actual thinking interfere much with job, she groused to herself. But why they had not destroyed the list the instant the Ministry had fallen...

She was shaken out of her reverie by a sudden change in Neville's tone and posture. It was subtle, but she could tell he was excited about one of the boys. Hughes, was it? She narrowed her eyes as the child walked nervously up to the stage, and then drew in a quick breath. A reddish shimmer surrounded the boy as he approached the stool, biting his lip and looking anxiously at Neville. Neville whispered something to the child, and the shimmer suddenly disappeared.

Was it possible... could that have been the boy's aura, she wondered? Surely not, at such a young age. She looked more closely at the child as Neville placed the hat on his head. He was quite a handsome little thing, honey-haired and blue-eyed, with high, almost delicate cheekbones and a dimple in his cheek as he smiled up at Neville. Minerva frowned. There was something familiar about the child.

The hat seemed to be taking an inordinately long time, and Minerva's frown deepened. With one exception last year, it had been some time since the hat had had any trouble sorting a student. First the strange verse, now this? She could tell from the boy's pursing lips, his eyebrows pulled together, that he was in some sort of argument with the hat. Suddenly, his eyes opened wide, his mouth making a little "o" of surprise, and he gave a little nod.

"Slytherin!" The hat called out, sounding distinctly smug. A small groan escaped from Neville, and the boy looked up at him, stammering an apology.

Neville smiled back, patting the boy on the back and pointing him toward the right table. Up at the teacher's table, Blaise Zabini was cheering.

They better not have been betting on the placements again, Minerva thought, shooting a dark look at Neville, who avoided her gaze. The flushed cheeks gave him away, however, and she narrowed her eyes at him. He hastily called out the next name.

Soon, they were down to the last student, and Zahara Zabini was promptly sorted into her brother's house, as expected.

"Very well, then, let the feast begin," Minerva called, clapping her hands together.

"Told you so," Blaise leaned over and muttered.

Neville glanced at his colleague.

"Wait a minute," he said, "you _know_ something..."

Blaise sat back quickly, shaking his head. "Lucky guess," he said, a little too nonchalantly.

Neville pursed his lips and continued to stare at the Slytherin.

"I thought we were friends," he finally said.

"What do you mean?" Blaise demanded. "Of course we're friends, if only because there's practically no one else with a pulse in this mausoleum."

"You're holding out on me," Neville accused him.

Blaise shook his head. "McGonagall is watching us, with that glint in her eye. She didn't see you hand me the money, did she?"

Neville paled and glanced up the table, where his fierce mentor was, indeed, glaring at him.

He hastily changed the subject.

Down at the student tables, Cathal was sitting happily next to Zahara, listening to one of his new classmates, Nicola Smythe, who was telling them about her hometown of Oxford. "My mum, she's a professor there, and dad's an engineer. You could have knocked them over with a feather when I got my letter! She's all about computers, and he's about machines - they never gave magic a second thought before this."

Cathal laughed. "My parents grew up around magic, and my godmother was a witch, or it would have been a big surprise for us, too."

"I heard Slytherin is a dangerous house for muggle-borns," Nicola said in a loud whisper, after a slight hesitation.

"That was a long time ago," Zahara said firmly. "Right, Selene?"

Selene Selwyn, whose long, straight, brown hair floated around her face, bared her straight, white teeth in a broad smile.

"Right you are," she agreed cheerfully. "That was back before the war. Now, we all hold hands and sing kumbaya."

The boy next to her snorted.

"Well, okay," she relented. "The old reputation still sort of tarnishes our image, even a decade later, but the truth is that many of the pureblood families were wiped out in the war, literally or figuratively - mine was one of the exceptions. Most of them were on the wrong side of history. So, Slytherin's less pureblood than newblood these days."

"Yeah," her table mate agreed, washing his mouthful down with pumpkin juice. "We're still pretty sneaky and very ambitious, but we're actually considered the innovative house now. The Ravenclaws may still be the book smart ones, but they're a bit stuffy. We're the next generation. Lots of muggle born and half bloods that are bringing muggle technology into magic."

Selene nodded, and then frowned slightly. "And we continue to value old-fashioned manners, Ray," she said pointedly. "I am Selene Selwyn, Head Girl, which means I'm in my last year here. If you have any questions or concerns, you can always come to me, or to the prefects."

"And I'm Ray Cresswell," the boy said, waving his spoon in the air. "Also seventh year, and I'm no perfect prefect," his eyes twinkled, "but you can ask me questions, anyway."

"How many seventh years are there?" A small, thin-faced boy, who had nervously introduced himself as Casper, asked.

Selene smiled a little sadly this time. "Only three - two boys, one girl."

"But she would have been head girl, even if there had been a hundred other girls," Ray commented, and Selene swatted at him playfully. Someone from the other side of the table called down to Selene, and both of the older students turned away.

"The innovative house," Nicola murmured. "Mum and Dad will like that."

"What are you doing?" Zahara asked Cathal, who was craning his head around and looking across the hall.

"Oh, just trying to see how Vik is doing. I hope he likes Gryffindor."

Zahara rolled her eyes. "Home of the brave?" She snickered. "He'll fit right in."

"Yeah," Cathal said, biting his lower lip, "but those guys on the train, the ones that were calling him names? They got sorted into Gryffindor, too."

"My sister says all Gryffindors are a bunch of bullies," another first year, Cordelia Prince, sniffed.

Ray Cresswell was eying the girl with interest. "Are you as good a Quiddich player as your sister, Ophelia?" He asked.

"Ophelia?" Casper squeaked from down the table. "Your parents named you Cordelia and Ophelia?"

"Oh my God," Nicola chortled.

Cordelia was flushing bright red. "It's very rude to make fun of someone's name," she scowled.

Next to her, a pug-nosed, somewhat squat girl named Rose Bulstrode looked at her angry classmate.

"Why?" She asked. "What's wrong with those names?"

"It's Shakespeare," Casper answered, and then looked down at his plate when Cordelia glared him.

"Shake what?" Rose asked, with interest.

"A writer," Nicola responded, "from a long time ago. I guess you don't read him in the magical world."

"We read him in muggle studies," Ray clarified, looking amused, "but not until fourth year."

Selene glanced back at them over her shoulder. "I just want to warn you all that the food may appear magically, but it also disappears magically, so eat while you can."

All talk amongst the first years instantly ceased. And they remained silent, except for the occasional sigh or hum of contentment, until dessert was safely consumed and it was time to head to the dorms.

Later, gazing up happily at the curtains over his bed, Cathal yawned. "I like it here," he declared to Casper. Oscar, the only other boy in their year, was already snoring loudly. Even his pet rat was snoring.

"Me, too," Casper agreed. Casper didn't seem to talk much.

"But I miss home a bit," Cathal confessed, turning his blushing face away from his classmate. "Do you?"

Casper didn't answer right away, and Cathal's breathing had already evened out into a steady, nasal rhythm by the time the boy said anything.

"Not even a little bit," Casper finally whispered, but Cathal was already asleep.


	6. Chapter 6: Classes Begin

The next morning, the first year Slytherins - along with all the other first years - were up early and down in the dining hall before the rest of the house. Blaise knew that would be the case, since it had happened every other year he had spent at Hogwarts, even during the war. So, he was ready for them with their schedules.

"Wait," he said counting heads, "there's one missing."

"Oh, um, yes - it's Oscar. He's having a bit of a lay in. Tiring day yesterday, and all," Cathal said.

Blaise raised his eyebrows and then shrugged. "Well, make sure he gets his schedule. All your schedules are the same this year, actually."

"What's first?" Nicola asked excitedly.

"Charms with Professors Flitwick and Waxworth," Zahara said.

"We have it with the Hufflepuffs," someone else added from down the table.

"Then History of Magic," Cathal said, "with the Ravenclaws. And Defense Against the Dark Arts after lunch."

"With the Gryffindorks," Cordelia chirped.

"Now, now," Blaise chided her, "there'll be none of that. I want you all to get along. Or at the very least, be good little Slytherins, and don't be so obvious about your opinions."

Cordelia flushed bright red as all the other first years nodded solemnly.

"Seriously, though," Blaise said, "silly house rivalries have caused a great of trouble in the past, and I don't want to see that from you lot. Anyway, give the others half a chance, and you may find some of them will become your best friends." Zahara and Cathal shared a look. They hadn't had a chance to talk to Vik since the sorting and were anxious to hear how he was doing in Gryffindor.

"Go on now," Blaise said. "Get some breakfast before class."

A short while later, the seven Slytherins - Oscar having joined the rest seconds before breakfast ended, stuffing croissants into his mouth and trailing crumbs away from the table - trooped into Charms. They were already in their seats, waiting politely, when a crowd of Hufflepuffs flooded the room, talking excitedly.

"They sure are noisy," Zahara muttered to Cathal.

"I dunno," he whispered back, "they just sound happy to me."

"Maybe you're in the wrong house, then," Cordelia commented, leaning towards the two friends.

"Didn't your mother ever teach you it's rude to eavesdrop?" Zahara asked, arching an eyebrow.

"At least I have a mother," Cordelia snapped.

"Slytherins are supposed to stick together," Nicola reminded them, from her seat next to Cordelia, who shot her a dark look.

Before the argument could escalate, the diminutive charms professor marched into the room, a smiling young woman in sky blue robes floating behind him. Actually floating, a few inches off the ground.

"Good morning!" he said brightly, peering around at the class, which murmured "good morning" back to him.

"Allow me to add my heartiest welcome to you all," he squeaked. "It is just delightful that I will have such a large group of new students for my last year teaching at Hogwarts. Delightful."

There were whispers and gasps around the room.

"You're leaving, Professor Flitwick?" One of the Hufflepuffs asked.

"Yes, yes. It's time," he said happily. "All good things must come to an end. And I must say, I am quite looking forward to my retirement. Not the least because one of my most accomplished students has agreed to come and take over for me. Class, this is Sunshine Waxworth. She graduated at the very top of her class from Hogwarts six years ago, and has been working as a metal charmer ever since. Sunny, I mean to say Professor Waxworth, will be co-teaching with me this year, and then taking over next year."

The young woman, whose sparkling eyes matched her robes perfectly, gave the class a little wave, stars trailing from her fingertips.

There was a quiet "oooh" of appreciation from the students, and Professor Flitwick beamed.

"Well, let's get started..."

By the end of the period, Cathal was quite certain that charms would be his favorite class, and said so with great enthusiasm as they hurried down the hall toward History of Magic.

"That's just because the teacher is pretty," Zahara grumped.

Cathal blushed.

"Did you see the pink unicorns running through her hair?" Rose asked.

"Yeah," Casper agreed. "And she had rainbows on her fingernails. Not painted on, you know, but actual rainbows."

Zahara rolled her eyes.

"Oh, you," Cathal said laughing, "you liked her, too. I saw you smile back at her when she said your color charm was the best."

"She did say that, didn't she?" Zahara asked, with a brief repeat performance of the facial expression in question.

"In, in, in," a stocky woman with very short salt-and-pepper hair barked at them from the doorway of the History of Magic classroom. She was beckoning to them vigorously.

They rushed into the room to find the Ravenclaws already silently in their seats, waiting. More than one smirked as their classmates hurried in.

"Sit!" The professor commanded. "No time to waste! We have much to do this term."

The woman stood at the front of the room, foot tapping impatiently as the Slytherins settled themselves into the remaining desks, all in the back of the room.

"Good. Let's get started. I am Celestia Fox, History of Magic. And yes, what you've heard about me is true," the Slytherins all looked at each other to see if anyone knew what she was talking about. "I lost an arm during the war, I used to be an Unspeakable, and I will kick your butts all year long. So don't mess with me. Any questions?"

Wisely, no one said a word.

"Good. Let me debrief you. We will start with the ancient antecedents of our magical society: Assyria, Babylon, Egypt, Greece, Rome, and Arthurian England. Monuments and artifacts from these times can be found all over England, and of course, in Egypt, Greece, and Rome, etc etc, not surprisingly. You are, in fact, in one such artifact right now."

The class chuckled uneasily, unsure of whether the professor intended them to be amused.

"Yes, yes," she said, waving her hand in the air, "I do have a sense of humor, contrary to popular opinion. You are allowed to laugh, but only at the appropriate times. There are Roman foundations under this building, where their magical folks used to practice their arts, and Arthurian era stones throughout the construction. Druids of that time also practiced here."

"In your second year, we'll skip lightly through the Middle Ages, because it's seriously boring, and focus more on the Renaissance, which is much less boring. Third year, we'll finish up the Renaissance and then look at the 17th century and the Victorian era. Fourth year, we'll cover the 19th and 20th centuries, up to the present day. In subsequent years, we'll look at history in context, because we live on a little, tiny island and it's a big world out there. So we'll be comparing what has happened here to to the history of other countries. We'll always consider the history of other magical and non-magical species that co-exist with us, of course."

"Throughout your History of Magic courses, we shall have guest lectures, field trips, and reenactments, some of which will be in collaboration with Defense Against the Dark Arts. Sometimes I will be with you, and sometimes I won't." She pointed to her empty shoulder socket. "This is a curse scar and requires monthly treatments, or I die a painful death. I will be absent during those times."

A Ravenclaw girl with long, blond hair, sitting in the center of the front row, raised her hand.

"Yes?" The professor asked, eyebrows raised and lips pursed.

"How did you get the curse scar, ma'am?"

"None of your business! Next question," she nodded at another Ravenclaw, a tall, thin boy, also in the first row, who had raised his hand.

"Professor, where will we be going for our field trips?"

"You'll know when we get there!" The Professor shouted, throwing an eraser at the boy, who ducked, and that sat back up, mouth open in shock. "Any other stupid questions? No? Good. Excellent reflexes, by the way. Now, let the learning begin."

All the students were exhausted by the end of the first class.

"Did you know the Egyptians invented necromancy?" Cathal asked Zahara, who shook her head.

"Makes sense, yeah?" Casper piped up. "Lots of mummies at the British Museum."

"The what?" Rose asked.

Casper muttered something under his breath.

"It's a muggle museum," Nicola offered.

"It actually has a magical wing, too," someone commented from behind them. The Slytherins turned around to see two of the Ravenclaws watching them. The girls were identical in every way, including the angle of their school ties and the hair bands holding their dark locks back from their foreheads.

"Does it?" Nicola asked excitedly. "Where is it? What's in it? How do you get to it?"

The two girls regarded her quietly.

"West side," said one.

"Same sorts of things, only enchanted or related to magic," the other added.

"You just do," they said together, shrugging. "Our parents took us there, so we never really noticed how you get there. You just walk through a doorway...

"...Like all the other galleries."

The twins regarded each other.

"Serious oversight," one said. "We should have wondered.."

"...how we got in," her sister nodded.

"Whoa," Nicola said, holding up a hand, "this is like watching a tennis match. Do you always finish each other's thoughts?"

"Pretty much," the first one said.

"If not always," the second one smirked. "I'm Victoria," she added.

"Elizabeth," the other said, "Flourish-Blott."

"Like the bookstore?" Cordelia asked.

"Just like," Victoria responded.

"Our father owns it," Elizabeth clarified.

"Hieronymous Flourish-Blott the 7th," said Victoria. "And Jane, our mother."

"Nice to meet you," Cathal smiled, introducing himself and his fellow Slytherins.

The twin Ravenclaws continued walking with Cathal and Zahara, as the other Slytherins drifted ahead of them toward the dining hall.

"What did you think of Professor Fox?" Cathal asked them.

"She is great," one said, whom he thought was Victoria.

"Superb," Elizabeth added. "But we do not agree that the Medieval period is boring. There is a reason it is called the Dark Ages, you know."

"Evil wizards, bloody rebellions, goblin uprisings," Victoria said with relish.

"But we are intrigued as to why she thinks it is boring," Elizabeth qualified.

"Good point," Zahara agreed thoughtfully. "No matter what, though, I think it's going to be a very cool class. Much more interesting than charms," she shot Cathal a sly look.

"Really?" Victoria asked. "You do not like charms?"

"She likes it," Cathal rolled his eyes. "She's just giving me a hard time."

The girls gazed wistfully at Cathal and Zahara. "You are already friends," Elizabeth observed. "You are lucky. We do not like any of the other Ravenclaws."

"None of them?" Cathal frowned. "But it's only been a day! Maybe you should give them a chance."

Both girls shrugged in unison.

"Well, we'll see you around, anyway," Zahara said reassuringly, as they entered the dining hall. The twins smiled at them and one gave a little wave before they peeled off and headed for the Ravenclaw table.


	7. Chapter 7: Slugs Again?

_**Hooray for the guests who are reading and reviewing! Thanks so much!**_

After lunch, the Slytherins returned to the dungeons for Defense Against the Dark Arts. Guttering torches lit the cavernous room, throwing spooky shadows on the walls. The Slytherins began pairing off at desks, when Cathal noticed Casper, sitting alone and fidgeting unhappily.

"You go sit with Casper," he whispered to Zahara. "I'm going to try to sit with Vik."

Her eyes met his and she gave him a slight smile, slipping silently away and next to the small boy, who brightened noticeably when she sat down.

Blaise - Professor Zabini - was already at his desk, and noted where his sister sat, a glimmer of approval in his eyes. By the time the Gryffindors began trickling into the room, however, Blaise was grinding his teeth and tapping his quill impatiently against the desk. Why were they always so late? Not for the first time, he understood why his old head of house, the dearly departed Severus Snape, had been so irritable all the time.

"By all means," he finally sighed, "take your time. It's not like I have anything better to do."

The Slytherins snickered, and he sighed again. It was going to be hard to convince them not to do that whole house rivalry thing if he didn't lead by example. Then he noticed Cathal sitting and whispering happily with one of the Gryffindors, a big, brawny lad, almost as dark-skinned as Blaise himself.

It was with a considerably lighter heart that he began the class.

He was about halfway through explaining the syllabus when he noticed two of the Gryffindors appeared to be talking to each other. He decided to ignore them - they were first years on their first day, after all. But the second time they caught his eye, he realized they were not talking to each other, but to Cathal and his partner. Cathal was shifting uneasily in his seat, but the other boy sat straight up and stony-faced. Blaise frowned, and muttered the naming charm.

"Something you wish to share with the class, Mr. Cram?" He asked, expecting the boy to jump and stammer. But not this child. He smirked at his teacher.

"Yes, professor," he said, a sneaky note in his voice, "I was just wondering when you were going to tell us all about the Death Eaters."

Blaise frowned at the boy again.

"You'll learn about that in your history class," he answered shortly.

"But Professor," the boy said, batting his eyes, "aren't you something of an expert?"

Before Blaise could react, Zahara had jumped out of her seat.

"Shut up, Cram!" She shouted. Casper was staring her, his eyes wide.

The Gryffindor held up his hands. "No need to attack me, Zabini," he said. "Though I'm sure you could teach us a lot about it, too."

"That's enough," Blaise barked, but he was too late. Zahara had already pulled her wand and muttered something he didn't quite catch.

The boy made a strange gurgling sound, retched once, and then again, and a huge, slimy green and purple polka-dotted slug surged out of his mouth. The girls at the next desk screamed and struggled out of their seats, running for the door. All around the room, students were laughing, gagging, jumping on their desks, or joining a chorus of "ewwws." Zahara had a triumphant gleam in her eyes, and was brandishing her wand again.

"Muffilato!" Blaise stabbed his wand toward the class, silencing them all, and then unleashed a wordless petrificus totalis on his sister.

"Sit down, right now," he barked at the girls trying to leave and the others standing on their desks. "You," he pointed at Cram's table mate, who was leaning away as the boy vomited another slug, "take him to the infirmary. NOW!" He cast a locator spell, which brought a large orange arrow flaring to life on the floor in front of them, pointing them in the right direction, and then added a mild compulsion spell for good measure and banished the slugs, canceling his sister's hex. Next, he conjured his patronus - a Wyvern - and sent it to the school doctor, who would find the students before they could get too far.

Blaise waited until the two boys were gone and roughly released his sister from the spell. She went tumbling to the floor.

"Detention," he snapped at her, and she shot him a wounded look.

"Tonight?" She asked, as she dropped her eyes and sat down again,

"Every night," he shot back, "for the next two weeks."

She swallowed hard but did not argue; she recognized her brother's tone of voice, though he had rarely directed it at her before.

"If the rest of you are ready to get back to work, I will release the muffilato. Nod your heads if you think you can sit there quietly." Every student in the class nodded.

"This was an unexpected, teachable moment," Blaise ground out. "What Miss Zabini just did is a hex. A jinx is similar, but more mischievous than malicious. A curse is more serious and usually more damaging than a hex. So, jinx, hex, curse. This year, you will be learning mostly jinxes and how to defend against them. If I catch any of you jinxing or hexing each other in my class at any time other than when I instruct you to, you will get detention. And trust me, you will not enjoy having detention with me. If I or any other professor catches you cursing another student any time, anywhere, that is grounds for suspension and possibly expulsion. And oh, we will catch you, so don't try it. Do you all understand?"

His eyes swept the roomful of nodding heads, and landed on Zahara, who would not look at him.

"Do you understand?" He raised his voice, and she finally looked up. Her eyes were glassy with tears, but she nodded, clenched her jaw, and looked down again.

"Good," he said.

One of the Gryffindor girls raised her hand tentatively.

"Yes, Miss Peabody?"

"Sir, what did you do to us, and to her," she nodded toward Zahara. "And that red arrow thingy, and the silver monster - what were those spells, and how did you do that?"

Blaise gave the girl a slight smile. "That was a muffilato, a complete body bind, a locator, and a Patronus." he decided it was best not to tell them about the compulsion hex just now. "I cast them wandlessly and silently, except for the Patronus, which has a wand motion like this." He demonstrated.

The class gasped.

Miss Peabody raised her hand again.

"Yes?" he encouraged her.

"Are we going to learn to do all that, too, sir?"

"Muffilato is a third year jinx - some of you might be familiar with the more benign, related quietus spell, which parents sometimes use." He took in at a quick glance which students were clearly familiar with that spell. "And the body bind is a sixth year hex. You will learn locator later this fall in your charms class, but Patronus is not until seventh year. And oh, I also banished the slugs. That's seventh year, too. You will have the opportunity to study wandless and silent casting as electives before you leave school, as well, but not very many people can do either, let alone both."

He gazed sternly at the class, one eyebrow raised. From the looks on their faces, he didn't think he'd have any more problems with this lot.

At the end of the class, Zahara erupted out of her seat and sprinted for the door before he could catch her attention. Blaise sighed and watched her go.

Well, he thought, that could have gone better.

It took Cathal, Vik, and Casper almost an hour to find Zahara. She was down the hill, just inside the Forbidden Forest, visiting the thestrals.

"Not those things again!" Vik exclaimed, freezing as several of the hollow-eyed animals turned toward him.

"Yeah," Casper breathed. "What are they?"

"Thestrals," Zahara said gloomily, without looking up at them. "Remember Hagrid told us not everyone can see them? I Iooked it up in the library. Thestrals are only visible to those who have seen someone die."

All three boys froze.

"I don't remember seeing anyone die," Zahara said quietly.

"Me, neither," Cathal reassured her. "In fact, I'm quite certain I never have. Maybe the book was wrong. What about you, Vik?"

"Well," the big boy said, scratching the back of his neck, "I did see my grandfather in his coffin before we buried him. Do you think that counts?"

"I saw someone die," Casper blurted. "In London. I saw one bloke stab another, right in the ribs. I was hiding, you know, and they didn't see me. They didn't know I was there. But I saw the whole thing. And when I stepped out from behind the rubbish bin, the dying man looked right at me, like he wanted me to help him."

"What did you do?" Cathal whispered.

"I ran away," Casper whispered back, looking at the ground, his face pale.

"Well," Zahara reasoned, after a short silence, "that was right smart of you, wasn't it? The other man could have come back at any time."

Casper gave her a grateful look.

One of the thestrals came over to the fence and dipped its head at Cathal, making a slight, high-pitched whicker. Cathal smiled and walked over to the creature, scratching its bony brow. The thestral was soon making an odd rumbling noise, somewhere between a cat purring and blade sawing.

"Are you alright?" Casper finally asked Zahara.

She sighed and stood up. "Yes," she answered slowly, and then threw her hands up in the air. "I just feel so stupid!" She exclaimed. "I went to primary school with Cram in Hogsmeade, so I know better than to let him get to me. And instead I made my brother look bad. I've never seen him so angry! I just can't even face him."

"Do you usually get along?" Vik asked, tentatively reaching out to pat a thestral, which did not seem to appreciate the attention quite so much as the one with Cathal did.

"Of course," Zahara said impatiently. "He's really the only parent I've ever known, and that's, like only the second or third time he's ever even raised his voice to me. What am I going to do?"

"Well," Cathal said reasonably, smiling at the thrumming beast in front of him, "you were actually just standing up for him. Just shows how much you care about him, right?"

"Maybe," she agreed, sounding more hopeful. "I just really don't want to disappoint him," she confessed.

"I think you're the least disappointing person I've ever met, " Casper said, and then bit his lip, blushing.

"Thanks, Cas," Zahara smiled. "I'll try to live up to that. Alright, come on. It's almost time for dinner, and I bet Vik will faint if he misses a meal. Who knows what kind of weird creatures will haunt us if we witness a Gryffindor fainting."

Vik snorted and rolled his eyes, but looked pleased as they all turned to walk back up to the castle.


	8. Chapter 8: Moondust and Cardamom

Later that night, when the boys were in bed, Oscar snoring peacefully, Casper finally asked Cathal a question.

"You know today, in Dark Arts, before Zaraha attacked that guy, he was saying something to you. You looked pretty upset."

Cathal didn't answer right away, and Casper waited anxiously, wondering if he should have let it alone.

"He was asking Vik if I was his boyfriend," Cathal said softly.

"Oh," Casper finally responded.

"I'm not," Cathal said. "Just so you know."

"Oh hey," Casper said hurriedly, "I wasn't thinking that. I mean, I wouldn't care even if he were."

"But he's not," Cathal said heatedly. "He's just my friend."

"Right, right," Casper responded quickly. "Any idiot can see that. That guy's just a wanker."

"Right," Cathal said.

They were both quiet for awhile.

"It's not the last time he's going to bother you," Casper finally added.

"I know," Cathal agreed quietly.

They were both silent for a time. Finally, Casper cleared his throat.

"Cathal, what did the hat say to you? At the sorting? You were up there for a really long time."

"Oh," Cathal answered, feeling his cheeks heat. "I just…well…we were arguing about which house I should be in."

"Which house did you want to be in?"

"Gryffindor," Cathal admitted. "I really like Professor Longbottom."

"Oh," Casper answered, trying to hide the hurt in his voice. "What made you change your mind?"

There was another long silence, and Casper thought the thudding of his heart might be audible to the other boy.

"It's okay," he rushed in. "It's none of my business."

"It said my parents were in Slytherin," Cathal whispered. "Both of them. I don't remember them. Don't even know who they were. But the hat did. Said I might figure it out someday, but only if I followed in their footsteps,"

"Oh," Casper yawned, a warm feeling in his chest that the other boy had confided in him. "That's okay then, isn't it? You don't mind?"

"I love it here," Cathal confessed. "Well, I'm not so sure about Cordelia. But you and Zahara are my best friends, except for Vik, you know. It just feels right."

"Yeah," Casper said happily. "It does."

Meanwhile, Zahara had just finished scrubbing her brother's classroom floor, cleaning up the slug slime, which had proved to be very stubborn, now that it had dried. She took the cauldron and the scrub brush to the sink and cleaned them up, putting everything neatly away.

"Can I go now?" she finally asked her brother, not looking at him.

"May I," he corrected her gently.

"May I go now," she repeated.

Blaise put a hand under her chin and lifted her face, forcing her to look at him.

"Zahara," he sighed. "What possessed you to do that?"

"I...I don't know," she stammered, trying to bite back tears. "He just...he was insulting you, that's what!" she pulled her chin out of his hand. "He was trying to humiliate you! And after the years we struggled to be accepted, it's just not right."

"No, it's not," he agreed gently. "But the fact that he's a spoiled brat is not the problem, is it?"

Zahara looked down at her shoes.

"Now, more than ever before, it's important that you remember what I've told you," he said, trying to pour all of his worry and urgency into his voice. "You cannot afford to draw any attention to yourself."

"Yeah, I know," she said, crossing her arms. "I just wish you'd tell me why."

Blaise watched her for a moment, but she continued to stare stubbornly at the floor, her brows knit together.

"I will," Blaise said. "I will tell you someday. Just not yet, okay?"

"Okay," she agreed quietly.

"Let's head back to Slytherin," he said, putting an arm over her shoulders. "It's well past curfew, so I really should get you back."

"You're not going to give me double detention for being out after curfew, are you?" His sister asked, one corner of her mouth slipping upward.

"Well, now," he drawled, "that is a good idea."

She laughed and they walked down the hall and around the corner to the Slytherin entry.

"Blaise," she said, putting a hand on his arm before he could open the door, "I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to disappoint you."

He smiled at his sister. "You didn't," he said softly, patting her on the cheek. "I mean, purple polka dots? Damn, girl. The only other time I saw someone around your age try that spell, he ended up hexing himself by accident."

She snickered.

"Just don't do it again," he warned her, shaking his finger at her and muttering the password. She made a crossing motion over her heart, before stepping into the Slytherin dungeons.

In potions the next morning, Vik waved Zahara over.

"Sit with me," he called out.

She looked at him, frowning, her brows knitted together.

"You sure?" She asked softly. "I don't think the other Gryffindors are going to appreciate that."

Vik shrugged. "The ones who like me won't care, and I don't care about the other ones. Anyway, I have to tell you what happened to Cram."

Zahara sat down quickly and leaned toward her friend.

"I heard him telling his buddy that Professor Longbottom really chewed him out, and then gave him a month's detention."

"What?" Zahara asked, startled, She knew Neville very well, of course, and he seemed way too nice to be so tough.

"Yeah! Can you believe it? I guess Professor Longbottom told him that it was totally unacceptable to be disrespectful to a professor, that if it happened again, it could get him suspended."

"Wow," Zahara said.

"But here's the best part: you won't believe what he has to do..."

She leaned even closer.

"He has to go to a shelter for homeless muggles every Saturday and make them food. Without magic."

Zahara nodded, eyes wide. She knew Neville went to that shelter every weekend, and had, in fact, gone with him a few times. But she couldn't picture Devon Cram there, that was for sure. A huge smile popped up on her face.

"How about you?" He asked anxiously. "Was your brother really hard on you?"

Zahara shrugged. "I had to clean up all the slime with a scrub brush, which was really gross, but the worst part was that he was disappointed in me. I'm not sure I can take that for two weeks. But you know, I was just standing up for him." Zahara thought it best not to mention that he had already forgiven her, and actually complimented the creativity of her hex.

"Who knows what he'll make me do tonight," she added, not wanting anyone to think that her brother was going easy on her.

The other Gryffindors started arriving, so they switched topics. Cram glared at them both when he came in, but sat on the other side of the room, fortunately.

"Excellent, excellent," said the professor, who stood up from his chair and watched the stragglers hurry in.

"Wonderful. Great to see you all. I am Professor Upton Blythe, Head of House Hufflepuff, and I just know this is going to be a terrific year - I can see it in your shining faces." The teacher scanned the room with a huge smile plastered across his face, pausing slightly when he came to Cram, who was still glowering at Zahara.

"Yes, well," he cleared his throat, "most of you, at any rate. This is first year potions, so if that's not what you're here for, now would be a good time to leave." He chuckled to himself. "I flew on a muggle flying machine once," he said, eyes twinkling, "and that's what they said: if you're not going to London, this would be a good time to get off the plane. And sometimes, I hear they'll even drag you off! Isn't that something?"

The students all looked at each other in confusion.

"But of course, that has nothing to do with why we are here today. Potions is an amazing subject - it is part magic, part muggle science, and sheer artistry. You will learn in this class how to combine plants, minerals, hair, skin, and other excretions of various animals, with heat, cold, friction, air, etc etc in ways that will enrich your senses and even change physical matter. You can make something inedible delicious with a potion, or make something delicious poisonous. Potions can change you into a different person, or make you invisible or glow in the dark. There are thousands of combinations, millions of results. Oh, how I envy you, the thrill of discovery for the very first time!"

The professor closed his eyes, and shook his head, as if recalling an especially pleasant memory. He sighed and opened his eyes, smiling broadly at them again.

"I believe in learning by doing, so let's get right down to it. Please get your cauldrons out and turn to page 81 in your books. We're going to brew Tears of Morpheus, or the so-called "sweet dreams" potion."

In a clatter of stirring rods, cutting knives, and cauldrons, the class rushed about, getting ready for the lesson.

"I ran into Victoria and Elizabeth before we came up here," Cathal said to Vik and Zahara.

"Turns out they're potions prodigies...'

"How do you know they're prodigies?" Zahara interrupted.

"That's what they said," Cathal continued patiently. "Anyway, they said it's really, really important to follow this recipe exactly as written. And make sure you get the freshest, greenest St. John's Wort that you can - that we need to root around in the bin to find the best stuff."

"Did you tell the others?" Zahara asked.

"I tried," he rolled his eyes, "but Cordelia didn't want any advice, and Rose just looked at her with her mouth open, Oscar was nodding off, and Nicola wouldn't stop chatting to the Gryffindor next to her."

"And, oh yeah, they said to listen carefully to the things he says during the brewing."

Zahara shrugged. "Anyone you want to tell, Vik?"

"Yeah," he said, "thanks." He leaned over to the next table, where a short, broad-shouldered boy sat with a girl, who had long strawberry-blond hair and a dusting of freckles across her nose. They listened intently and then looked over at Cathal. The boy nodded and smiled, and the girl gave Cathal a little wave.

The professor made odd little seemingly non-sequitur comments all throughout the class, but most of the students more or less ignored him. Except for Cathal and his friends.

"For you muggle-born students," Professor Blythe sang out, "this is just like following a recipe for making cookies. Yes, that's right!" He chortled to a started looking Gryffindor girl. "Muggles cannot use magic to cook! So they use recipes, just the way we do for spells, with carefully measured ingredients, which react in a chemical way to produce certain tastes and effects."

"So, I think he means to say," Vik drawled, "that we really, really need to follow the directions."

"My floors are very clean," the Professor mused at one point, "and I truly like them that way. So stir your cauldrons carefully and slowly - you wouldn't want a vigorous motion to muss my floor."

Cathal made eye contact with Zahara, and they both started stirring more slowly. Vik's friends followed suit.

As they were just about finished, Professor Blythe suddenly cried out: "Moondust! I've always liked it, you know. A single speck can make almost any potion better. Except for potions with sunshiny things in them. That doesn't always work out. Come to think of it, crushed black beetles and moondust do not interact so well, either..." The professor kept muttering to himself a list of ingredients that apparently did not actually mix with moondust.

"Cardamom!" He declared. "Cardamom explodes with moondust. How could I forget?"

Zahara and Vikram looked at each other, and she promptly went to the cabinet to find moondust, bringing back a speck for Cathal and Casper and Vik's friends, who accepted it gratefully.

"Alright," the professor finally said, "time to bottle up your brew. Please make two phials, one for each student. You will be bringing this back to your dormitories with you and taking it tonight, right before you go to sleep."

There was some concerned murmuring around the room.

"Now, now," the Professor said, "there's nothing to worry about. Even if you made a colossal mistake, there's nothing in this potion that can hurt." He frowned and cocked his head to the side. "At least, I don't believe so. I have found in my many years of teaching that one should never underestimate the creative destruction of students. In any case, it can't possibly kill you."

"That's reassuring," Zahara said, as she carefully poured the potion into the phial Vik held in a pair of tongs. The frothy liquid was a vivid fuschia color, with blue veins running throughout.

"We have to drink that?" Casper said, making a face. "Don't they teach you that things in nature that are very colorful are usually poisonous?"

"Ah," the professor exclaimed from right behind Casper, making him jump in his seat and almost drop his potion, "but this is not nature, is it? This is magic!" He peered at Casper's potion and gave him a cryptic smile before drifting away.

"I don't know that I liked the look of that smile," Casper muttered.

"It'll be fine," Zahara reassured him. "You can always show it to Victoria and Elizabeth, if you're not sure."

"Who are Victoria and Elizabeth, anyway?" Vik asked, as he packed his potion carefully into his satchel.

"Ravenclaw twins, our year," Zahara said. "We have History of Magic together and just, well, hit it off, I guess."

"They're funny," Cathal added.

"I don't know that I would call them funny," said Zahara, "They're a bit odd, actually. But I do like them."

Vik shrugged and tossed the satchel over his shoulder. "Any friend of yours, is a friend of mine. In fact, here, I want to introduce you to my friends. This is Hector Hernandez and Victoire Weasley."

They all shook hands and muttered greetings, before leaving the classroom.


	9. Chapter 9: The Stuff of Dreams

Transfiguration, with the Ravenclaws, was an interesting subject, though the professor was a good deal less interesting. Still, Professor Clearwater was certainly competent, if not exciting.

After lunch, the seven Slytherins trouped down to the greenhouses for herbology with Professor Longbottom and the Hufflepuffs. The other Slytherins were skeptical that learning about plants was going to be at all interesting, but Neville was a great teacher, just as Cathal had promised.

Cathal felt his teacher's eyes on him more than once during the class, and Neville was quick to smile when he looked up, and even winked once when an Aphrodite vine wrapped itself fondly around Cathal's finger during the greenhouse tour.

"Just kiss it," Neville instructed, eyes twinkling, "and it generally will let you go."

Cathal leaned down, flushing, and pressed his lips to the green tendrils, which arched up and stroked him on the cheek before settling back down.

Neville raised his eyebrows. "Well," he observed. "that plant seems right fond of you, Mr. Hughes."

The rest of the class giggled and guffawed, and Cathal groaned quietly.

"But I wouldn't push your luck, Miss Farley," Neville said quickly, as a dark-haired girl reached out to touch the plant. "The Aphrodite plant is notoriously fickle - and it can have thorns."

The girl snatched her hand back, as though burned, and the class shuffled past just a little more quickly.

That night in the dormitory, the boys all looked anxiously at their phials.

"It's really, really pink," Casper said doubtfully.

"Oscar's isn't so bright," Cathal frowned.

Oscar himself just shrugged, tapped out the cork and promptly swallowed the entire thing.

"'Night," he said, crawling into his bed and pulling the curtains shut. He was snoring within seconds.

Casper sighed. "I wish he weren't so loud."

Cathal gave him a sly grin.

"Watch this," he said, swishing his wand. "Muffilato."

Suddenly, there was no more sound from Oscar's bed.

"How'd you do that?" Casper said wonderingly, peering into the curtain to make sure the other boy was, in fact, still breathing. He was.

"Remember? We saw Professor Zabini do it yesterday."

Casper stared at the taller boy. "Yeah, and he said we wouldn't learn that until second year."

Cathal shrugged, flushing slightly. "Well, it didn't look so hard."

Casper kept staring, and Cathal began to fidget.

"What?" He finally demanded.

"He did that spell wandlessly and silently, Cathal."

Cathal's brow furrowed.

"How did you do that?"

"I don't...I don't know," he finally said slowly. "I just...I just feel like I saw him do it."

"Can you cast the other spells he cast?"

"I don't know," Cathal answered. "I don't think so?"

"Can you teach me?"

"Maybe tomorrow after potions?" Cathal offered.

The smaller boy nodded eagerly, and then held up his phial. "Well, let me know if you're going to make me barf slugs or anything in the meantime, okay? Bottom's up," he tipped the liquid carefully back, dripping a bit on his tongue.

"Wow," he said, smiling at Cathal, "it's really good. Very fruity..." he paused and took a mouthful, "but the pink part is kind of tart." He swallowed the rest. "That was really good!"

The boy sighed happily and ambled over to the bed. "Goodnight, Cathal. No slugs, right?"

"No slugs," Cathal agreed, uncorking his phial and sipping the mixture. He smacked his lips appreciatively and finished the brew off. He promptly yawned and stumbled into the bed, blissfully asleep before his head even hit the pillow.

Cathal woke up early the next morning, bounding eagerly out of bed. Casper was also up early, actually singing in the shower, much to Cathal's surprise. Oscar was up in time to head down to breakfast with them, for the first time, and Zahara was waiting impatiently in the common room.

"Nicola will meet us down there," she said. "Rose and Cordelia are still asleep."

They were among the first arrivals in the dining hall that morning, though Victoria and Elizabeth were already at the Ravenclaw table, books propped up in front of them. Elizabeth gave them a little wave and Victoria nodded, with a smirk, for some reason. Vik, Hector, and Victoire soon arrived, as well.

Charms class that morning went great for the Slytherins, or, at least for some of the Slytherins. Cathal, Casper, and Zahara mastered the Wingardum Leviosa spell on the very first try, sending Professor Waxworth into a squeal of appreciation, clapping her hands delightedly and sending little rainbows shooting off in all directions.

Cordelia clenched her eyes shut and grumbled. Neither she nor Rose was able to perform the spell that day, though Oscar and Nicola managed to get the feather to waft limply off the desk before class was over.

Potions was next, and Elizabeth and Victoria were waiting outside the classroom. Both looked uncharacteristically anxious.

"Cathal," Victoria started, "there's something we need to tell you..."

"Girls, girls," the potions master broke in, causing the twins to jump. "What are you still doing here? You should be in your next class! Herbology, isn't it? It's a long walk to the greenhouses - best get started." He made a shooing motion with his hands.

"Come in, you lot," he said cheerfully to the seven Slytherins waiting outside the door, and they duly began to file in, Vikram and his friends close behind. The two Ravenclaws watched with narrowed eyes, but soon turned and fled down the hall.

The Professor whistled cheerfully while the Gryffindors trickled into the room. The last to enter were Cram and his accomplice, a broad-shouldered, paunchy boy with deep set eyes. Cathal thought his name was Phil something, which seemed appropriate, since he filled up a great deal of space. Both boys looked tired, and the glares they shot toward Vik were even more venomous than usual.

"What's wrong with them?" Cathal whispered to Vik, but Vik just shrugged.

"Right then," the Professor interrupted. "Everyone's here. Good. So, show of hands, how many of you actually did take your Sweet Dreams potion last night?" Every hand went up.

"Excellent, excellent," he enthused. "Now, we shall test the results! This here is a WC viewer. Ingenious devices," he continued, "allows one to view dreams and memories, far more easily than a pensieve. Uses a bit of muggle technology to good advantage, I believe, as with most Weasley Company inventions."

The professor waited until everyone was seated.

"Ms. Zabini, could you please come to the front of the room?" Zahara started, and looked around at her friends uneasily.

"Come on then, I don't bite," the professor said, to snickers.

Zahara slowly rose to her feet and strode forward.

"That's the spirit!" The professor encouraged her. "Now, if you would, have a seat and put your finger in the viewer. Right, wiggle your finger around a bit so it can get your entire fingerprint. Good." As Zahara did what she was told, the professor muttered something under his breath and flicked his wand, and suddenly a bright stream of light flowed out of the viewer and into the air in front of the class.

Colors began to flicker, and then sharpen into an image. It was Zahara standing in front of a room full of students - Cathal could see himself beaming in the front row - and her brother was right in front of her.

"Zahara," he said, "you've made me proud. And I am happy to say, you will be the head girl." In the ghostly image, Blaise kissed her on the cheek and affixed the badge to her robes, while the children all cheered in the background.

The actual students sitting in front of Zahara were stunned silent for a moment, and then some of the Gryffindors began to laugh.

"In your dreams, Zabini," someone shouted from the back.

"Precisely!" Professor Blythe exclaimed. "Tears of Morpheus, when brewed correctly, will give you "sweet dreams" and a good night's sleep, as well, leaving you unusually well rested the next day. From the slight shimmer around Ms. Zabini, I could tell she brewed the potion perfectly, and her dream is obvious proof. Well done, well done, Ms. Zabini! Ten points to Slytherin. You may sit down now."

Zahara looked slightly stunned, and more than a little embarrassed as she stumbled back to her seat.

"Who's next?" The professor said brightly, which caused the whole class to fall instantly silent. "How about you, Mr. Cram? I saw you enjoying Ms. Zabini's experience."

Cram's eyes shot wide open and he started to frantically shake his head.

"Come on, come on," the professor said in a sing-song voice, patting the back of the chair. "Brave Gryffindor that you are, come right up."

Cram hauled himself up out of his seat and trudged to the front of the class, dropping into the chair, eyes downcast. After some encouragement, he finally placed his finger in the viewer, and the lights flared up in front of him.

In his dream, Cram was asleep in his bed in the dormitory, when he suddenly woke up, looking panicky, and ran from the room. The hallways outside the common room seemed to stretch endlessly, all shadows, the only sound Cram's frantic breath. Suddenly, he emerged into the brightly-lit dining hall, which was absolutely full of students - at least twice as many students as currently attended Hogwart's. Cram skidded into the room, and all eyes turned toward him. Then, the entire hall erupted in laughter, and Cram looked down. He was in his underwear - snug white briefs with little cartoon snitches zooming around on them. He looked up in horror at the laughing students, including none other than Zahara Zabini, who appeared fierce and beautiful, her mouth curled in a contemptuous smile.

Cram snatched his finger away.

"Textbook!" Professor Blythe crowed. "You see, children, that is what you get when you brew this particular potion incorrectly - a mildly bad dream, and something like a slight hangover the next day. Though that was a bit more than mild, I should say," the professor patted the stunned Gryffindor on the back, "I suspect you made multiple errors, poor boy." He tutted. "You may sit down now."

Cram shot out of the chair and back to his seat, glaring a challenge at his giggling classmates.

"Who's next? How about you, Mr. Crouch?" He waved at Oscar, who rose up dutifully and took his place, promptly putting his finger into the viewer.

The image that rose up started out similar to that of Cram, with Oscar asleep in his bed in the dormitory. But nothing else happened - he just continued to sleep.

The professor frowned. "Is that all, Mr. Crouch?" Oscar moved his mouth, but no sound came out.

"I'm afraid I can't hear you," the professor said, his frown deepening. "Could you speak up a bit?"

Oscar's lips moved again, but still without any sound.

"I say," the professor sighed, "I do believe you've been silenced, my boy," he waved his wand and murmured "finite."

"... a good dream," Oscar's voice suddenly rang out, mid-sentence.

The professor raised his eyebrows. "I beg your pardon, Mr. Crouch?"

"That was a good dream," Oscar explained patiently. "I like to sleep."

"Yes, well," the professor said, nonplussed, "er, that would be a competently but not spectacularly brewed potion. Most likely the result of St. John's Wort of only middling quality."

Each student grimly waited to be called, like prisoners summoned to an executioner. Most of the dreams were what the professor called "competent," meaning the students had brewed well enough but not very well. Victoire, who dreamed of a dark-haired, smiling boy, was proclaimed a first-rate success, though she looked anything but pleased, her face flaming red. Cathal's own dream had been no less humiliating, in that it showed his most secret wish, that his birth parents were found, had been trapped in some evil spell, and turned out to be great heroes of the light. But no one even snickered at him, especially as he went right after Phil McLaggen, Cram's lackey. The unfortunate boy had dreamed he received a howler from his mother and cried like a baby in front of the whole common room. By then, however, no one in the class was laughing too hard at anyone else's dreams.

Then it was Casper's turn.

As the lights coalesced into images, Cathal noticed that the professor was watching with considerably more interest than he had shown for most of the students.

Now they could all clearly see a huge house, dark gray stone, with ivy strangling the walls. Casper was taller and older in his dream, wearing a smart blue blazer with golden buttons, his dark hair neatly combed. He marched right up to the door, gripped an enormous bronze knocker and let it fall. The door swung inward, and a stooped old man in a green-fitted jacked stood on the threshold.

"Casper!" The old man gasped. "You've returned, a great success, just as I always predicted! The master was wrong to send you away into the streets. He'll see that now - let me bring you to him..."

The professor snapped "finite," and the image suddenly cut off. Casper jumped up from the chair and ran straight out of the room.

"Hmm, well, yes," the professor said, staring at the door. "That was supposedly a very good dream, based on Mr. Sainsbury's sheen. I can't imagine what upset him so." The professor glanced at the rest of the students with surprise, as if he'd forgotten they were still there. "Oh, that's right, I forgot to mention - you all have the option of showing me your dream later in private, if you do not wish to share with the entire class." Given that three quarters of the class had already taken a turn, there was a loud eruption of groans."Or you can choose not to share at all," he said, sounding surprised at the reaction, "but you only get partial credit then."

He waited for the class to settle back down.

"Mr. Patel," the professor finally called out, "how about you?"

Vik clenched his jaw and shook his head. "No thank you, Professor."

The professor's eyebrows shot right up. "No? You wish to show me later?"

"No, thank you, professor. I'll take the partial credit."

"Oh come now, my boy, I can see from your healthy glow that you brewed the potion perfectly. In fact, you are one of six in this class who did so, which is a new record. There were two in the last class, which makes an unprecedented total of eight. I've never had so many gifted brewers in one year. In any case, such perfection is deserving of full credit. How about it then, Mr. Patel?"

But Vik only shook his head slowly.

"No matter. Who's next then?"

Not surprisingly, no one else wanted to share their dreams to the entire class.

"Right, then, anyone who wishes to show me in private may stay and the rest of you may go. But before you do," the professor raised his voice over the scraping of chairs and shuffling of books, "here are the lessons you should have all learned today: first, follow directions. The results of a poorly brewed potion are rarely as benign as they were today. So, no messing about. Second, listen to me. When I am talking about potions, nothing I say is idle talk. Third, practice humility. Everyone gets it wrong sometimes. Class dismissed."

A few students stayed behind to share their visions with Professor Blythe, but everyone else hurried out, not meeting each other's eyes.

Cathal and Zahara quickly caught up with Vikram, who had surged out of the classroom ahead of the other students.

"Vik," Cathal called to him, "wait up!"

He frowned back at them, but slowed down nonetheless.

"What's wrong?" Zahara asked him.

"Not here," he muttered, glancing around at their classmates.

"We have a long break after lunch," Zahara quickly supplied, "since physical arts doesn't start until next week. Want to walk around the lake?"

Vik nodded.

"With Victoire and Hector, too? And Casper?" Cathal added. Vik frowned again and shook his head.

"Just you two," he whispered. Cathal felt a tide of warmth spreading across his chest that the bigger boy trusted him so much. "I gotta go," he said hurriedly, as his Gryffindor friends caught up with them.


	10. Chapter 10: Perchance to Dream

_**AN: Thank you Guest for the reviews! Anyone have ideas about how to attract more readers?**_

After lunch, Zahara and Cathal waited on a rock out by the lake.

"Casper didn't come to lunch," Cathal observed.

"I know," Zahara sighed. "Give him some time."

"It didn't seem like there was anything embarrassing in that dream," he noted.

Zahara shrugged. "Do you mean to tell me that you weren't totally humiliated to have everyone see your most secret wish, your best hope ever?"

Cathal flushed even at the question.

"Good point."

"But it was curious," Zahara finally allowed. "The guy in his dream said he'd been sent away - to the streets. And it made me think - I don't remember him talking about his family at all, do you?"

Cathal shook his head and hugged his arms around his knees.

"Casper doesn't say much about anything, really. But no, he hasn't mentioned home."

They sat in silence for a moment.

"He did say he saw that guy killed in London, remember?" Zahara asked.

"Oh yeah," Cathal agreed. "That was kind of weird, wasn't it?"

"I mean, what was a little kid doing out in muggle London, in a place where he'd see something like that?"

"Dunno," Cathal shrugged, "but maybe we should tell your brother."

Zahara nodded slowly. "Not yet, though," she finally decided. "Let's see if we can get something out of him first."

Vikram soon appeared, looking much more relaxed, and the three set out to walk around the lake.

"So?" Zahara finally asked, when they had strolled for awhile without seeing any other students.

Vik sighed. "It's like this," he said, looking around nervously. "I couldn't let anyone see my dream, because it wasn't just a dream."

"What do you mean?" Cathal prompted.

"I'm a seer," Vik sighed again. "I don't dream, I have visions. And if I'd known that's what the professor was going to do, I never would have taken the potion in the first place."

"What do you mean, visions?" Zahara said sharply.

"I can see the future, and sometimes the past or the present in some other place."

The two Slytherins froze, staring at their friend.

"You're joking!" Zahara finally said, eyes narrowed.

Vik shook his head. "I wish I were, believe me," he sighed. "People always think it's this big deal, but I promise you, it just sucks."

"How often do you have them?" Cathal asked eagerly.

Vik rubbed his face wearily. "Seems like every day, really. Most of the time it's just tiny bits and pieces - nothing I can really make any sense out of. But the potion must have really amped things up, because I got a full vision. That almost never happens."

"You remember it?" Zahara asked quietly, and Vik nodded.

"I saw myself standing in some kind of dark clearing, with a fire going. And right in front of me, this guy appeared, out of nowhere. He looked like a ghost or a vampire or something - this really tall, really pale dude. Totally hairless, red eyes, and a weird, kind of flat nose. He was sort of floating in the air in this black robe, and he was laughing, but in a creepy serial killer way."

"That does not sound like a "sweet dream,"" Zahara interrupted.

Vik smiled. "Well, it did get better. Suddenly, I was holding a glass ball in my hands, and I started chanting something, and the weirdo was suddenly sucked into the globe, and in my dream, I started laughing, only happy laughing - not maniac laughing, like that vampire guy. In fact, I woke up laughing."

"So, you think that's some kind of propehcy?" Cathal asked, biting his lip as Vik nodded. "How old do you think you were?"

Vik shrugged. "Not sure. Definitely older than now, but I couldn't really tell. And, oh, there's one more thing..."

He looked at his friends.

"You were both there, too. There were other people, but I didn't get a good look at them."

They stared at him for a few seconds, speechless.

"That's why you decided to tell us," Zahara breathed.

Vik nodded. "That, and I had a vision once before of the three of us together as grown ups. In a pub, I think. We looked happy," he added.

"When did you see that?" Cathal asked excitedly.

"On the train," Vik said shyly.

"Well, let's hope that one comes true," Zahara said firmly. "But I think you're right not to tell anyone else about this, especially if it really is a vision of the future."

"Well, I don't really want anyone to know what I am," Vik admitted. "It just kind of freaks people out when they know."

"No, that's not why," Zahara said gently, putting a hand on his arm. "It's because of who was in your dream."

Cathal and Vikram both looked at her in confusion.

"That, my friend, fits the description of he-who-must-not-be-named," she announced grimly, after checking over her shoulder for potential eavesdroppers. Both boys still looked confused and she clicked her tongue with impatience. "The wizard who caused that war in England," she was whispering now, "Voldemort."


	11. Chapter 11

Very late that night, after the students had returned from their first astronomy class and were settled in, Blaise and Neville sat in the Headmistress's office, across an imposing black oak desk from Minerva McGonagall. All three were silent, with varying degrees of obvious impatience.

"Headmistress Mole," McGonagall finally barked, startling both of the younger men.

"It's Eupraxia, dear, you know that," the portrait responded. "Even with these young bucks in the room."

Blaise could not stop a small groan from escaping his lips, while Neville's eyes just twinkled.

"Yes, thank you Eupraxia. Could you see if you can find Professor Upton in any of the corridors or in the Hufflepuff common room, please?"

"Of course, dear," the portrait said warmly, winking at the the two professors.

"Severus," McGonagall continued.

"What, no Headmaster Snape for me, I suppose? Not a real headmaster in your estimation, hmmm?" Neville could have sworn the portrait's eyes glinted.

"Eupraxia died in the 19th century, well before my time, whereas I literally wiped your nose for you once, Severus, as you may well recall."

The painted face of the late spy actually turned a lovely shade of crimson.

"Besides," the elderly witch's voice softened, "I always considered you a friend, my dear. Surely I am entitled to the use of your given name."

The portrait's complexion bloomed briefly redder before returning to its normal green-tinged sallow, and Snape inclined his head in agreement.

"Could you please see if Professor Upton is perhaps brewing and has forgotten my request to meet?"

Snape bowed his head again and stepped out of the frame in a swirl of black robes.

"I'll never get used to still having him around," Blaise muttered, "and just as miserable as he was in real life."

"He gives me quite good advice, actually," the Headmistress corrected him sharply, "something you would do well to remember, Professor. Zabini."

"He is on his way."

Blaise clenched his eyes shut. He could tell from the low, silky tone of his former professor's voice that Snape had heard him. He mentally did a check of every picture frame Snape might be able to invade and concluded he'd only have to avoid his study if he didn't want to put up with the portrait's ire.

"He's just here, Minerva," Eupaxia Mole announced, fumbling back into position and sounding slightly out of breath.

Professor Upton, his salt-and-pepper hair askew, charged into the room.

"Headmistress," he all but bellowed. "I apologize profoundly for being late. Just had a couple of students to round up, unfortunately. We like our Hufflepuffs friendly, of course, but not that friendly, at least not after curfew." The man stopped abruptly when he realized he was not the only one in the room.

"Oh, er, I beg your pardon, professors," he blinked at Neville and Blaise.

"That sort of friendliness is hardly unique to Hufflepuff," Blaise said with a straight face, causing Neville to bite his lip and press his hands together to keep from laughing. He could have sworn at least one of the portraits snickered.

"Oh, well, yes," the other professor agreed, scratching his chin. "I guess you do have a point there."

"Please sit down, Professor Upton," the Headmistress interrupted, conjuring another chair. "We have a serious matter to discuss. Go ahead, Professor Zabini."

"It has to do with your potions class, Blythe," Blaise started, focusing on the older man, whose eyebrows shot up at the news. "I found one of my students, Rose Bulstrode, sobbing in the girls' loo this afternoon. Something about your requiring her to drink a potion and then show her dreams to the class? I gather the dream was personally humiliating for her - something about having a pig nose. One of my other students was missing all afternoon - some of his classmates finally found him hiding in the thestral paddock in the Forbidden Forest because he was so embarrassed by what you made him show."

"Oh?" Upton said, leaning forward. "Which one was that?"

Blaise frowned. "Does it matter?" He answered pointedly.

"Yes," Neville jumped in. "I had several students quite upset, as well, and Sunny...er Professor Waxworth...said there were some long faces in Ravenclaw, too."

"Well, Professor Upton? Care to explain yourself?"

He peered around at them, looking bewildered.

"But there's nothing to explain," he protested. "It all went perfectly well. They learned exactly what I wished them to."

"And what would that be precisely?" McGonagall inquired politely.

"Well, every time a first year class arrives, someone ends up in the infirmary in the first few weeks - a cauldron blows up or melts, someone accidentally creates some kind of poisonous gas, there are burns, welts, abrasions..." he paused and glanced at his audience. "So few of them come with any potions experience, you see, and it is hard to convince them with words alone that something that seems so innocuous, rather like playing in mummy's kitchen, can be a dangerous business and powerful magic..."

"Here, here," the portrait of Vindictus Viridan huffed loudly from a far corner of the room.

"Your point, please, Professor? It is getting rather late," the Headmistress prodded the talkative teacher.

"Right, well, I had them brew Tears of Morpheus and then drink it, and we viewed the results as a class."

Minerva McGonagall froze utterly still. "You had new students brew on their very first day and actually consume the results?"

"Tears of Morpheus?" Blaise added in disbelief. "For a bunch of homesick 11 year olds? Merlin's balls," McGonagall shot him a glare, "we're lucky the entire class wasn't in the loo crying."

"Wait, wait," Neville said, waving his hands around. "That's not even the point - he made them stand in front of the class while their worst fears and best hopes were exposed for all to see. That's...that's just..." He threw up his hands in frustration.

"Well?" McGonagall said, one eyebrow arched.

"I assure you, it was perfectly safe. There is no combination of those ingredients that could possibly cause any real harm," the Professor insisted, wringing his hands slightly. "But I wanted to show them, not tell them, how important is to follow the directions exactly, pay attention to what they were doing, and to listen to what I tell them. I wanted them to really learn that, without anyone getting hurt. And, well, frankly, a few of them could do with a lesson in empathy," he nodded pointedly at Neville, "and I thought they would get that, too. Quite a bit harder to judge someone once you know his joys and fears and he knows yours."

"Well," the Headmistress said, pursing her lips and watching the man, as he fidgeted nervously with the sleeve of his robe, "I suppose it was an unorthodox methodology. But I can see how it might be effective."

Neville started to object, and she held up a hand to forestall him.

"Next time, however, I believe allowing them to view their own dreams and then write about it might be a preferable approach, along with close supervision from you to ensure there are no serious brewing errors - we don't want to force our new first years into night terrors, if we can help it. Indeed, I gather I already have a complaint from the parents of a Mr. Cram?"

Neville sighed audibly and Blaise narrowed his eyes.

"Thank you, Headmistress," the potions professor said anxiously. "I apologize if anyone was upset - I assure you, I was only trying to do what was best for the students."

"I know you were, Blythe," she said more warmly. "Now, if that's all, I suggest we retire. I had forgotten how taxing the first week of school can be."

The three professors left the room, Blythe Upton first, who awkwardly shook hands with the other two before hurrying down the hall.

"Fancy a drink?" Neville asked, and Blaise nodded.

He was back in his rooms later, thinking over what had happened and his conversation with Neville, when a voice startled him out of his reverie.

"And did getting inebriated help much?" The low mocking tones were unmistakable. Blaise swore to himself quietly. He'd forgotten he needed to avoid the study.

"I'm not inebriated, thank you very much."

Snape sniffed. "And did that brainless Gryffindor have anything worthwhile to say?"

"He's not brainless, as you well know."

"So you keep telling me."

"He doesn't trust that guy. Never has, apparently."

Snape's eyes glittered and he leaned forward in his frame. "Perhaps not brainless after all."

Blaise raised an eyebrow at the former potions master. "Do tell?"

Snape shrugged elegantly and sat back in the chair. "That was not an acceptable lesson for first years, no matter what the Headmistress said. I do not even like children, and I would have never considered such a thing. She is a formidable woman, but not without blind spots, just like her predecessor."

"Were you not her most immediate predecessor?" Blaise asked pointedly.

Snape actually curved one corner of his lip into a smile. "Indeed."

Blaise regarded the picture thoughtfully. "Have you seen something else that makes you question his fitness as a teacher?"

Snape shrugged. "Nothing specific. There is just something off about him."

"You didn't know him?"

Snape shook his head. "He was here after I was a student and before I was a professor. None of the other portraits remembers him, either. It appears he was unremarkable in every way."

Blaise nodded slowly. "You'll keep an eye on him?"

"Of course."


	12. Chapter 12: Heart of Stone

Nothing out of the ordinary happened the next day, however, or the day after that. In fact, the weeks began to stretch out, settling into a new routine. Unfortunately, part of that routine seemed to be increasingly unkind pranks aimed at Vikram by some of the other Gryffindors.

"Vik," Zahara scolded him angrily one afternoon on a walk around the lake, "you have to say something to Professor Longbottom! It's not okay, what they're doing to you."

Vik shrugged, and then winced. His right shoulder was bruised from a nasty fall down the stairs after he was hit with a banana peel jinx. It could have been worse, but the Hogwarts staircase happened to shift just then, stopping his tumble after a single flight. "That will just make things worse. Trust me - that's how guys are. If you rat someone out, if you're a wimp, it'll just turn more of them against me."

"I just don't understand why they pick on you," Cathal said softly. "You're the nicest guy in the house, you're really smart, you're good at magic and brilliant at physical arts..."

Zahara laughed. "That's exactly why," she said. "They're jealous."

"Then I guess that's why they pick on you, too," Cathal said pointedly, looking at Zahara.

"Well, maybe that's part of it, but it's a little more complicated than that."

"Do tell," Vikram grinned.

Zahara sighed. "A lot of Cram's family died in the war. And... I guess I should have told you guys this a long time ago, but my mother was a well-known Voldemort sympathizer. She wasn't marked..." they both looked at her blankly. "Hard core death eaters had a magical tattoo on their forearms." She rolled her eyes when both boys clearly thought that sounded really cool. "We're not even sure what really happened to her, only that she died right after the war, right after I was born."

"Oh," Cathal said.

"What happened to your dad?" Vikram asked.

Zahara stiffened and clenched her hands in front of her. "I don't know. I don't even know who my father was. My mother was not especially picky, apparently."

"So, anyway, that's why Cram doesn't like me. A lot of people don't like me, or my brother. He fought on the side of the light in the Battle of Hogwarts, but no one was sure what side he was on until then. Most of his friends were death eaters or sympathizers. He had a lot trouble finding a job before the Headmistress asked him to come here."

"But that's not fair!" Cathal exclaimed.

"No," Zahara agreed, "it's not."

"You can always come to Canada," Vik said cheerfully. "We like everyone."

"Good to know," Zahara snorted, and they walked on.

Soon, the weather became too cold for their frequent, long walks, and they kept closer to the castle, or chatted quietly in study groups in the library. The librarian, Madam Pince, did not much like it when they talked to each other, but she was more than a little hard of hearing and didn't see too well, either, so they could usually keep up a conversation.

"Fox says we're going to study ancient Yule traditions, starting this week, to get us ready for the holidays." Zahara told Vikram and his Gryffindor friends, who had not yet had History of Magic that week.

"Yeah," Casper whispered, rolling his eyes, "she said her Christmas gift to us is a big exam."

"She would," Hector said, laughing.

"What is wrong with that?" Elizabeth asked indignantly, pointing to her sibling. "We like taking tests."

"Fayots," Victoire giggled.

"We speak French, you know," Victoria glowered her, "and we are not brown nosers. We are Ravenclaws."

"Same difference," Casper muttered, barely audible. Elizabeth swatted him on the back of the head.

Everyone at the table laughed so hard, that Madame Pince actually heard them and shushed them angrily, threatening to kick them out.

Vikram stretched his hands over his head, lacing his fingers together, and yawned mightily.

"Well," he said, "on that note, I'm calling it a night and heading back to the dorms. Professor Longbottom sent me a note at dinner - wanted to see me before curfew about something. I'll catch up with you all tomorrow."

Everyone wished him a good night.

A few minutes after he'd sauntered out, Cathal frowned at the chair Vik has been sitting in.

"What?" Zahara asked, noticing.

"I think..." Cathal got up and walked over to Vik's chair, sucking in a breath. "I think I'll just make sure he's okay."

Cathal dashed out of the library before anyone could say anything to him, a rebuke from the librarian following him like a dart out the door. He kept running up the path, his breath frosting on the sharp November air. In fact, the sound of his own panting almost made him miss the odd, thunking sounds coming from the gallery across the quad. Cathal stopped and tilted his head, listening. There it was again, a heavy smack, like someone slapping wet laundry against a rock. Then he heard a laugh.

"Who's there?" He demanded sharply. "Lumos!"

In the eerie blue light of his spell, he could see three heads bent over something on the ground.

"Shit," one of the three figures said, starting to move away.

"No, wait," one of the others said, and Cathal realized with a sinking heart that it was Cram. "It's just that puny Hughes kid. Get lost, Hughes. And if you say anything about this, you're next."

Cathal's heart pounded and he felt his cheeks grow hot. "What are you doing?" He demanded walking toward the three boys.

"Shove off, midget," Phil McLaggen glowered at him.

Cathal gasped. Lying on the ground next to the three boys was Vikram, his form stiff and unmoving, his eyes frozen open.

"What did you do to him?" Cathal cried, brandishing his wand.

"You mean your Paki boyfriend? Same thing we're going to do to you if you don't run back to mummy right now, slimy snake."

Cathal felt a burning sensation in his guts, and he knew he was shaking with anger.

"You step away from him right now, or..."

"Or what?" Sneered the third boy, who Cathal didn't immediately recognize, but thought might be older.

"Or you will regret it," Cathal growled, and he could feel himself losing control, knew that his aura was flaring red around him. Cram smiled and lowered his head, pointing his wand at Cathal. But before he could even open his mouth to say anything, he and the other two boys were suddenly flung backwards, as if Hagrid had grabbed them by the collar and thrown them. All three went airborne, all the way to the back wall of the gallery, hitting the stone with a crack and landing in a heap on the ground.

Cathal shook himself and ran to his friend's side.

"Vik," he said frantically, "Vik! Are you alright?" Vik did not move or speak, and Cathal placed his shaking fingers against Vik's neck, but could not detect even a flutter.

"Vik, Vik!" He shouted.

"What is all this caterwauling?" A stern voice huffed right next to him. Startled, Cathal jumped up and pointed his wand at the intruder. He immediately recognized the man as one of the professors in the upper years. Divination, maybe?

"Sorry, sir," he gabbled, "I didn't mean to point my wand at you, but my friend - my friend is in trouble! I think he's dead!"

The tall, thin man, whose long, brown hair was clamped tightly back in a pony tail, frowned at Cathal, and then swept over to the prone student.

"He's ensorcled," the professor muttered.

"What?" Cathal asked, unfamiliar with the word.

"Under a spell," the professor clarified. He drew his wand and pointed it at the boy, but before he could say anything, Cathal had muttered something under his breath, and a bright, white light surged from his wand toward Vikram.

The professor whirled around and stared at the first year. "What did you just do?"

"Finite," Cathal said absently, staring at his friend.

"And just how," the professor ground out, "did you learn that spell? That is not a first year spell."

"I heard my potions professor use it earlier in the year," Cathal answered, not paying any attention to the man, who was staring at him, jaw slack.

On the ground, Vik groaned. "Ohhhh, I feel terrible."

The professor snapped his mouth shut and leaned over the injured student, waving his wand and uttering a few words.

"Well, small wonder," the professor said sourly. "You've had a very serious curse laid on you. _Marmorus_. A stone spell - induces total paralysis, and if cast wrong, it can literally turn one to stone. And there's no turning back." The professor gave Cathal a piercing look.

"Pity you did not see who cast it."

"But I did!" Cathal exclaimed, before he noticed Vik attempting to shake his head, and then groaning at the discomfort the movement caused him.

"Did you?" The professor said, raising one eyebrow.

"Yes, yes," Cathal said excitedly. "They're right over there."

"I see," the professor said, eying the heaps against the gallery wall. "And what, pray tell, happened to them?"

"Oh, uh, well, you see," Cathal stuttered, "I got angry. I didn't mean to hurt them."

"What spell did you use?" The professor said, jaw clenched.

"I don't know," Cathal said haltingly. "I don't think I used a spell."

The professor raised an eyebrow again. "You're Slytherin, correct?" He asked, and Cathal nodded miserably, wondering if that meant the professor didn't believe him. "And he's a Gryffindor?" Cathal nodded again.

The professor whistled and a small owl quickly swooped into the courtyard, landing on his shoulder. He produced a quill and strip of parchment from a pocket in his robes and quickly wrote something. "Professor Longbottom or Professor Zabini, whichever you find first - quick as you can, now." The bird shot away in a blur of feathers and talons. Then the professor moved smoothly over to the gallery and checked the three unconscious students.

When he returned to Cathal, he held out his hand, his face expressionless. "I need your wand."

Cathal looked at the tall man, mouth open in shock.

"Now, young man."

Cathal reluctantly handed it over, and the professor murmured something. The wand shot off a lumos, and then a color charm - a shocking shade of fuschia, much to Cathal's embarrassment.

"I see," the professor said after a pause. He eyed the nervous boy with interest. "It was accidental magic, then?" He prompted.

"Yes, professor, yes. I guess it was," Cathal said with relief.

The professor nodded, not taking his eyes off the boy squirming in front of him, until the one at his feet groaned again.

"I'm going to need to take this student to the infirmary right away. You will stay here until your professors arrive and you will explain to them what happened." He saw Cathal look nervously over at the three crumpled students across the quad.

"Not to worry," he said, now a tiny hint of a smile on his lips, gone so quickly, Cathal wasn't sure he'd really seen it. "Those three will not be waking without the help of an enervate charm. And in any case, I have their wands." He held out his hand, displaying the three wands, which he dropped into a pocket in his robes, along with Cathal's. Cathal nodded, and the professor levitated Vik, who wobbled slightly in the air.

"Will he be okay, professor?" Cathal burst out, before the man could leave. But the professor only shrugged.

"I'm not a healer," he answered, "I couldn't say."


	13. Chapter 13: Punishment

Cathal shivered and wrapped his arms around himself, chewing his bottom lip. He didn't have to wait long before Professor Longbottom ran into the quad, Professor Zabini close on his heels.

"Cathal!" Neville called out in surprise. "What are you doing here? Where's Professor Steelsheen?"

"Um, he went to the infirmary. With Vik."

"Why? What happened to Vik?" Just then, he heard Professor Zabini suck in a breath, and saw that he had noticed the three Gryffindors still in an untidy heap against the wall.

"I'll go check them," Blaise said quietly.

"Now, tell me," Neville said, crouching down in front of the boy and putting his hands gently on his shoulders.

Cathal bit his lip and looked at the ground. He shook his head slightly and took a deep breath. "They've been hurting him," he burst out. "Those Gryffindor boys. They keep pranking Vik, and they've been hurting him. He left the library by himself, and I got really worried, so I ran after him. And I found them - they were kicking him. And he was frozen. He couldn't move. And that professor, he said it was some kind of stone spell - it can be permanent. It can kill you! They could have killed him!" Much to his dismay, Cathal was unable to hold back the tears, and he felt them rolling down his face.

"And what did you do to them, Cathal?" Neville said gently, patting the boy on the shoulder.

"I...I don't know. It wasn't a spell. I just, I got angry. And I wanted to make them stop."

Neville nodded. He had seen firsthand that Cathal had a significant gift for controlled accidental magic. In fact, he'd worried something like this could happen.

"It's okay, Cathal. It's okay. I know you wouldn't hurt them on purpose. Now, why don't you go to the infirmary and check on Vikram, and Professor Zabini and I will take care of things here. You stay there and wait for Professor Zabini, okay?"

Cathal nodded, wiping his sleeve across his face. "Okay, Professor." He turned and started to run away, but then paused and looked back over his shoulder. "I didn't mean to hurt them," he said softly. "I really didn't. I swear it."

"I know, Cathal. It's alright. Go on now."

Cathal ran the entire way to the infirmary, arriving breathless and red-faced. He skidded into the room.

"How is he?" He nearly shouted.

"Shhh, now," the young healer said, a small smile on his lips. "This is a sick room, young man. We like it to be quiet, if at all possible."

"Sorry," Cathal whispered. "Is he going to be okay?"

The healer nodded. "Are you the one who found him?" Cathal nodded. "Well, you got there just in time. It was a badly-cast _marmorus_ , and it turned his spleen and some of the bones in his legs to stone, and there was other damage, too. If he'd been like that much longer, I'm not sure I could have saved him. Thanks to you and the professor," the doctor nodded to a corner of the room, "for getting him here so quickly." Cathal followed the healer's nod and was startled to notice the taciturn professor from the quad leaning against the wall, gazing at him.

"Can I see him?"

"Of course," the healer said. "But he's asleep now - he's going to have to stay in a healing trance for a few days."

"Days!" Cathal exclaimed.

"Shhh," the healer reminded him, smiling. "Yes. It's not easy turning stone back into flesh - takes a toll on a body. But don't you worry. He'll be right as rain in about a week. You can sit with him for a little while, if you like."

Professor Steelsheen waited until his two colleagues arrived with the three unconscious boys floating in front of them before peeling himself off the wall. The three men had a whispered conference with the healer, and they erected a magical barrier across the room, depositing Cram and his friends on the other side from Vikram.

"We thought it best that they be separated," Neville said softly to Cathal, stroking his hand across the boy's head. "I take it this wasn't the first time they've used magic to harm Vik?"

Cathal shook his head miserably, and Neville ground his teeth. He had suspected there was some bullying going on, but he hadn't been able to catch anyone in the act, nor could he get any of his students to tell him anything. He felt nauseated that any of his lions would have been involved in such behavior.

"Professors," Steelsheen's gravelly voice interrupted his thoughts. "May I have a moment?"

"Of course, Balthazar," Neville said absently, giving Cathal one final pat and following the morose divination professor across the room.

"I believe that one," he inclined his head toward Cathal, "did not intentionally do any harm to his peers."

"Cathal, you mean. Mr. Hughes," Neville answered, lost in his thoughts.

"Indeed. The same cannot be said of the three boys he rendered unconscious. I took a look at their wands. They've been up to some pretty unpleasant tricks."

Neville ground his teeth again, and Blaise actually let out a low growl.

Steelsheen pursed his lips. "Nonetheless, Mr... Hughes showed some quite powerful accidental magic in this incident. That bears further discussion. I believe he may be a danger to his fellow students, or to himself, if he can't learn some proper control."

"That's hardly fair," Blaise said heatedly. "He saw a friend being attacked, and probably saved the kid's life."

"I am not talking about this particular incident," Steelsheen said, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh," Neville said, understanding dawning. "You've seen something?"

The divination professor inclined his head. "Nothing clear. Just an impression."

Blaise sighed. "I see. Sorry about that - didn't mean to lose my temper at you." The black clad professor just shrugged one shoulder.

"There's one other thing," he said.

Neville and Blaise eyed him warily.

"The other one," he started slowly, "the injured one? He's clairvoyant. He's going to need some training, too."

"What?" Neville knew his mouth was hanging open, but he couldn't contain his shock.

"Then how'd they manage to ambush him?" Blaise asked suspiciously.

The other professor looked at him silently, expressionless. "As I said, he needs training."

Vikram actually stayed in the infirmary for three weeks, right until it was time to leave for winter break. Healers from St. Mungo's had come to check on him multiple times, but they were apparently satisfied with the care of the school healer, who had trained with them and returned to their ranks every summer.

Cathal, Zahara, Casper, Victoire, and Hector took turns sitting with Vik, reading to him while he was in his trance and then helping him catch up with his classes once he was awake. Some of the other Gryffindors came by, too, and even Victoria and Elizabeth visited.

It was the third-year Gryffindor student who had actually cast the _marmorus_ spell, and he was expelled from school. Cram and McLaggen were both suspended until after the winter holidays, and would be on some kind of probation for the rest of term - they were not allowed to carry their wands outside of class. Hector told them that Professor Longbottom had been so angry, the potted snapdragon in their common room had grown nearly ten feet tall and sprouted three extra heads, almost biting several students. The entire house had to write lines and spend an afternoon visiting the spell damage ward at St. Mungo's. They had even met the Professor's mother, a tiny, gray-haired lady who smiled at them vacantly, unable to speak.

Cathal was not even given detention, as it was judged he acted in self-defense. But he started a spell casting tutorial the very next day, alternating lessons with Professor Zabini and Professor Waxworth. These sessions involved some fairly boring exercises, mostly repetitive casting of simple spells, and then occasionally, dueling drills, where he would be under pressure. The first few times, he actually blew up the dueling dummy, but after a couple of weeks, he started to recognize the rising tide in himself, and how to channel it into a spell, swallow it inside his own flow, or even vent it harmlessly, like steam off a cup of tea.

Vikram was to start tutorials with Professor Steelsheen after the holidays, and he was not at all happy about it.

"I don't understand why I'm getting punished. I'm the one who got attacked," he sulked to Cathal one afternoon.

"I don't think it's supposed to be punishment," Cathal answered reasonably.

"Have you met the guy?" Vik asked pointedly.

Cathal nodded. "Well, yes. He's not the friendliest person here."

"That's an understatement."

"But maybe he can teach you how to control your visions," Cathal pointed out. "That would be worth it, wouldn't it?"

Vik shrugged. "How did he know, anyway?

It was Cathal's turn to shrug. "Feel up to exploding snap?" He diverted.


	14. Chapter 14: Freight Train Goes So Fast

_**Sorry to be so long in posting, but not too many readers — hard to feel motivated. Nonetheless, here's another chapter!**_

All too soon, it was almost time for the students to get on the Hogwart's express and head home for the holidays. When he heard Casper saying that his family didn't really celebrate much, Cathal invited Casper to Hughes Castle for the break, which Casper immediately and enthusiastically accepted.

"Should my parents write to yours?" Cathal asked the smaller boy, who shook his head hastily.

"Oh, no, no, that's okay - I'll ask them. That's fine. They won't mind a bit. They're always telling me to go make friends, yeah?"

"Well, great!" Cathal enthused. "I can't wait to show you around - it'll be so much fun!" He looked at the other boy shyly. "I've never had a friend over before," he admitted.

"Well, you know, me neither," Casper said softly, and they grinned at each other.

On the train, Vikram sat stiffly, as though he still weren't entirely flesh and blood, but he seemed happy to be heading home.

"My dad's going to meet me at the station, and we're going to the international portkey terminal. That's how I got to King's Cross, too." He grimaced. "My dad's a healer, so he's going to examine me before he'll let me go. I almost hope he'll say I can't do it - long-distance portkeying sucks."

"Well, if you end up getting stuck here, you can always take a muggle ferry or plane to Ireland and join us for Christmas," Cathal said brightly. "Casper is coming home with me."

"You're welcome at our house, too," Hector said. "But you'd have to put up with my Great Aunt Lydia. She has a habit of shooting off random transfiguration spells. It's good to stay out of range. She turned my brother into a newt last year."

Victoire laughed. "And you may also come to my house, I am sure. My Veela relatives come from France, which is always very entertaining. And we go over to Weasley House in Hogsmeade for Boxing Day, along with the Potters."

Everyone stared at her. "Really?" Hector asked. "You get to have hols with Harry Potter?"

She nodded, eyes gleaming. "He is good friends with my parents. My father is Ron Weasley's oldest brother."

"Oh, wow," Cathal said. "That's so cool! What's Weasley House?"

"It's a home for war orphans that my Uncle George founded, along with my grandparents."

Cathal stole a look at Casper, who was pretending not to listen, but Cathal could tell from the red flush up around his friend's ears that he had heard what Victoire said.

"Oh, really?" Cathal asked nonchalantly. "I didn't know there was such a thing. Do a lot of kids live there?"

"Not too many anymore, full time, anyway. But it's been up to 25 at times."

"Is it only kids whose parents fought against Voldemort?"

"Oh no, no," Victoire said vehemently, "of course not. In fact, the first two kids they took in had death eaters for parents. George thought the whole point was to make sure we didn't repeat history. He always says it will be a self-fulfilling prophecy if we treat those on the losing side like losers."

"I don't think too many people agree with him, though," Hector said softly.

"No," Victoire admitted. "But the kids in the house are great." She bit her lip, as though she wanted to say more and decided not to. And then changed her mind.

"Zahara and her brother lived there for a little while. Before he got the job at Hogwart's."

"Really?" Cathal said. He could feel that Casper was sitting forward in the seat next to him. "She never mentioned it to us."

"Well, I don't think she'd mind talking about it," Victoire said defensively. "It's not like there's anything wrong with living there - it's a great place, and anyway, her brother is friends with my uncle George. He was helping more than he was being helped. You should come and see it. It has playrooms, a quidditch pitch, and a even a lake with a lazy river - an indoor lake, mind you."

"It sounds great, doesn't it Casper?" Cathal asked.

"It does," Casper agreed softly, before turning to stare out the window at the scenery sliding by.

Victoria and Elizabeth came by to visit and check on Vikram, and the conversation quickly turned to what everyone wanted for Yule, or Christmas as the muggle students called it. The "three Vics," as they referred to themselves, chatted in rapid French.

"What about you, Elizabeth?" Hector asked.

"Oh, that is easy. I want books. I receive books. It works out."

He laughed. "Well, stun me for asking the obvious."

"Well, we also want a magical Screaming Blood Lemur, so you never can tell. And you?" She returned politely, a glint of amusement in her eye.

"Well," he scratched his chin, "a new racing broom would be awesome. But there's also some muggle fitness equipment I wouldn't mind having."

"Like at those gymnasiums they have?" Casper piped up.

"Yeah, exactly," Hector answered brightly. "Muggles are much better at physical arts than the magical world."

Casper nodded.

"Are your parents muggles?" Hector asked hesitantly.

"Oh, no," Casper fidgeted. "I just spend a lot of time in muggle London."

"And what would you like for Yule?" Elizabeth asked him, dark eyes thoughtful.

He fidgeted again. "Um, oh, we don't go in for that sort of thing much, in my family." He said vaguely.

Her brow furrowed and she exchanged glances with her sister, who was still talking to Vik and Victoire. But before she could press the point, Cathal intervened.

"Oh, look!" He exclaimed, pointing out the window. "We're almost there!" Everyone swiveled to follow his gaze, and Victoria and Elizabeth promptly rose.

"Well, we should get back to our compartment..." one said.

"...and get our things." The other finished.

"Happy Yule, everyone!" They said together, before slipping quietly out the door.

In the station, Cathal craned his head around, looking for his parents.

"They're probably hanging back a bit," he explained to Casper, who was hanging back a bit himself. "They've been around wizards, but not a lot, so they might be a little..." He broke off as he saw his parents at the center of a knot of people, all of them laughing uproariously.

"Oh, Cathal," his father said, spying him. "There you are, lad. We were enjoying the company so much, we forgot to look for you. Come, give us a hug, now." Cathal eagerly ran forward and threw his arms around his father, and then his mother. Casper stood back, staring at the tips of his shoes and clasping his school bag tightly in his hands.

"You must be Casper," a voice said to him, as a gentle hand landed on his shoulder. He looked up, startled, into Mrs. Hughes' warm gaze.

"Yes, ma'am," he squeaked.

"Well, young man, Cathal's written so much about you. We're just delighted you can celebrate the holidays with us." Her brow furrowed. "But I really don't feel right taking you all the way to Ireland without talking to your parents. Could we at least give them a call?"

"Mum," Cathal interrupted, "wizarding families don't use phones. They firecall or use mirrors or just go to someone's house."

She frowned. "Well, I can't do that, now can I?"

"How about if we send them an owl?" Mr. Hughes asked, nodding toward an owl-for-hire stand nearby.

Casper tried desperately to reassure his friend's parents that it wasn't necessary, but they were very insistent.

"Come," Mrs. Hughes said, "there's a little cafe right there where we can wait. They serve - what did they call it, Mr. Hughes?"

"Butterbeer, dear," he answered.

They had just sent the owl off with a message, when a man approached them.

"Are you Cathal Hughes?" The tall man was impeccably dressed in a dark muggle suit with a crisp white shirt and a blue-striped tie. His silver-threaded thick black hair was neatly combed, over a high, dusky forehead.

"Yes, sir," Cathal answered, straightening.

"I am Ramesh Patel, Vikram's father," he explained, his brown eyes serious. "On behalf of my family, I want to thank you for saving my son's life. We owe you a life debt, one we can never truly repay."

"Oh, ah," Cathal said, fidgeting with the collar of his coat. "Really, he would have done the same for me. There's no debt."

"No debt?" He asked in surprise. "I hope you don't take the situation lightly, because his mother and I, we certainly don't."

"Daaaaaad," Vikram moaned, running up to them. "You're totally embarrassing me. I told you he wasn't like that. Just because it's England doesn't mean everyone's old school."

Now Mr. Patel's eyes glinted.

"I was told I should offer to betroth you to my daughter...:

Vik made a strangling, choking sound.

"But I'm not sure that would be much of a reward..." he scratched his head. "She's a bit...high-spirited." He chuckled.

"Just as well," Mr. Hughes commented. "I dinnae think Cathal is ready to settle down. In fact, I don't think he's noticed girls yet, if you know what I mean," Mr. Hughes winked, and the two fathers laughed at their sons' horrified faces.

"Sean Hughes - and this is my wife, Eileen."

"Nice to meet you both. And truly - what Cathal did was very brave. You are always welcome in my house, and please let me know if there's ever anything we can do for you. I'm grateful Vikram has such good friends."

"Yes, well," Mr. Hughes answered, shooting Cathal a look, "that's very kind of you, and we've heard all about your son in Cathal's letters. We're just about to have a drink in the cafe - care to join us?"

"Thank you, but Vikram and I have to get to the international portkey station - we're headed back to Canada for the holidays. Another time, I hope?"

Mr. Hughes agreed pleasantly, and the Patels said their goodbyes.

"Something you need tell, young man?" Mrs. Hughes asked, tapping Cathal on the head, as she steered him toward the cafe.

They had already finished two butterbeers by the time Cathal told his story, and his mother was sputtering with outrage.

"Let me get this straight. The boy was attacked, almost died, you rescued him, were attacked by three boys, whom you rendered unconscious by unknown means. And the school did not see fit to notify us about any of this?"

"Now, now, come on, Eileen," her husband soothed. "I'm sure there's a perfectly reasonable explanation. Why don't we reach out to Professor Bonglottom and invite him to visit? I am sure he can tell us all about it, and why we're only just hearing it now." Cathal and Casper exchanged glances, Casper's eyes huge. The foursome fell into silence at that point, as the station had emptied out, except for a self-sweeping broom patiently brushing away. Finally, the owl returned, with an apologetic hoot. Mrs. Hughes untied the letter, only to mutter in surprise: it was her own note being returned to her.

"Oh, um," Casper said, when they all looked at him quizzically. "When I told them I was going to a friend's house, they decided to go visit my great Uncle Abelard. At an unplottable vacation house...in Majorca. I...forgot."

"Oh, well," Mrs. Hughes said, clearly nonplussed.

"They don't really think about me all that much," Casper admitted softly, his face flushed.

"Well," Mrs. Hughes answered, looking closely at the boy, "I see. That's our gain then, isn't it? Shall we be going?"

Mr. Hughes promptly took a large brass ring out of his pocket. "Right, then. We can use this now, with you boys here. We had to fly to get here, of course. But this is much faster, if somewhat more nauseating. On the count of three? One...two...three..." And the four promptly winked out of the station.


	15. Chapter 15: Flaming Pudding and All

_**Thanks rosiejeff and Guest for reading and reviewing!**_

They had a glorious Christmas at Castle Hughes, with a traditional muggle dinner, something Casper said he had never tried before. There was turkey, roasted potatoes, pigs in blankets, and a flaming pudding, as well as pie and ice cream. They pulled their Christmas crackers, which turned out to be enchanted. Casper got a crown that emitted tiny fireworks off the points, while Mrs. Hughes's crown transformed her into the exact likeness of Santa Claus, a full chin of snowy white whiskers and all. She was only able to say "ho, ho, ho" when she had it on. Cathal received a necklace of bells, which tinkled merrily every time he spoke, and Mr. Hughes was compelled to recite poetry about mistletoe, which caused the selfsame plant to suddenly appear over his head, unfurling into blooms and berries - which earned him a kiss from Santa Claus, which was very odd, indeed.

Both boys received several gifts. Zahara sent them each a tie tack, which at first they thought while practical, was not very exciting. But her letter explained that they were charmed - you could hear the other person wearing the tack, no matter how far away he was. Of course, the boys instantly tested their devices, running to dusky corners of the house and carrying on whispered conversations. Vik gave them each an enchanted, adujstable handweight. Much to their surprise, they both received something from Oscar, as well - it turned out to be magic earplugs, which would block only the sound of snores. Victoria and Elizabeth sent them each a gift certificate for Flourish and Blotts, with a letter encouraging them to visit as soon as possible and redeem their certificates. Much to his evident embarrassment, Mr. and Mrs. Hughes gave Casper a box of trousers, sweaters, and shirts.

"Oh," he gasped, "this is too much. Really. You're already doing so much, having me here. I can't accept this..."

"You can, and you will," Mrs. Hughes reassured him firmly. "But if it makes you feel any better, these are hand-me-downs from Cathal. I don't know that he'll be taller than you are for all that much longer, but for now, these should fit you just fine. And they're in good shape."

Casper hid his face.

"Now, child," she said, draping an arm around his shoulders and pulling him close. "If you don't want used clothing - slightly used, really, as Cathal has been growing so fast this last year - I won't be in the least bit put out."

"No, no," Casper reassured her hastily, wiping his eyes. "It's nothing like that. It's just - are you sure? Is it okay with you, Cathal?"

"Hm? What?" He said, looking up from the book about the Hughes family his parents had given him.

"Do you mind, about the clothes?" Casper asked softly.

"What clothes?" Cathal answered.

"Your old ones?"

"What about them?"

"Your mum has given them to me."

Cathal frowned, and Casper hastily dropped the box.

"Oh mum, that's nice of you, but don't you think we should give Casper some new clothes, not just cast offs?"

"They're perfectly fine!" His mother exclaimed. "You hardly wore these!"

"Really," Casper interrupted, "these are much nicer than anything I've ever had." Then he clapped his hand over his mouth.

"If it's okay with you, it's okay with me," Cathal shrugged, pretending not to notice Casper's consternation.

Later that night, the boys were lying in bed, whispering through their tie tacks. They were actually in the same room, as Mrs. Hughes thought they might prefer that, but it was more fun to use the magic than to just raise their voices.

"Why did your parents call him "Professor Bonglottom?" Casper asked hesitantly.

Cathal chuckled quietly. "That's just kind of their sense of humor," he admitted. "They like to mix up peoples' names on purpose. It was actually kind of funny with Professor Longbottom, because he was too polite to correct them. So, they kept coming up with more and more outrageous names."

"Such as?" Casper asked.

"I think Lingonberry was a good one."

Casper snickered.

"So, don't be surprised if they call you "Gasser" or something at some point."

"They wouldn't!" Casper gasped.

"They might," Cathal warned. "They call me Cowbell sometimes," he admitted, "when they think I'm making too much noise, but usually it's Caramel." He sighed. "And then they'll say it's because I'm so sweet."

"That's funny!" Casper laughed.

"At least they don't usually do it in front of other people."

"So," Casper said, a big smile lingering on his face, "what do you want to do tomorrow? Explore the castle some more?"

"I have an idea," Cathal answered, but he wouldn't tell Casper anything about his plan, just that it would be a surprise. A good surprise.

The next morning, the boys were up early.

"Plans today, lads?" Mr. Hughes asked, eyebrows raised.

"More exploring," Cathal responded through a mouth full of bacon.

Mr. Hughes nodded, eying the boys keenly. "And are you going to be practicing some spells?"

Cathal shook his head. "We're not allowed to do magic outside of school, da."

Mr. Hughes smiled. "Ah, but didn't you know? This house is both unplottable and untraceable, no matter what little spell they've put on your wands, boys."

Casper and Cathal looked at each other, and then both started whooping.

"Shame on you, Mr. Hughes," Mrs. Hughes said from across the table. "Encouraging them to break the rules like that."

"Right, I am awful," he answered calmly, returning to his newspaper. "You be careful now boys," he added mildly, "do anything dangerous and you will wish it was just someone from the Ministry of Silly Walks coming to scold you."

"Yes, da," Cathal said obediently, gulping down the last of his juice. "May we be excused?"

"Just clear off your dishes, dears," Mrs. Hughes said. "I'll wash them."

"Thanks, ma!" Cathal beamed, kissing her on the cheek.

Soon, the boys were running down a hallway into the oldest part of the house in the west wing.

"Cathal,' Casper said, as they slowed down, "what did your dad mean about the Ministry — something about how they walk?"

Cathal grinned at him. "It's from a muggle show — we can watch it while you're here. You know what the telly is, right?" Casper nodded. "It's muggle humor, but I think you'll get it. It's really funny. Here we are," he approached a wall, all dark-paneled wood with a square pattern to it.

"Watch this," Cathal said, and grinning over his shoulder at his friend, he tapped the squares in a pattern, and then placed his hands inside two squares and pushed. A section of the wall swung inward and out of sight.

Cathal strode inside, Casper close on his heels. As soon as they entered the passageway, the door closed behind them, and a soft glow emanated from the ceiling.

"Where's that light coming from?" Casper asked, peering up at the ceiling.

"Dunno," Cathal shrugged. "I figure it's enchanted somehow."

Casper nodded, and stumbled slightly as the floor began to slope steeply down.

"Watch it now," Cathal warned. "We're going to keep going down, and the floor gets a bit uneven."

"How'd you find this?" Casper finally asked.

"A ghost told me about it," Cathal responded. "Brendan, the 3rd Lord of this castle. He lived a long time ago — in the 9th century."

"Oh, wow," Casper breathed. "I've never even met a ghost that old. Don't they usually fade with time?"

Cathal shrugged. "I heard the Gray Lady at Hogwart's is almost that old. And there are others, all around this area. The first magical settlements here date to something like 2,000 BC."

They fell silent again as the hallway narrowed, and the walls and floor became rough, as if they were carved out of rock. The ceiling no longer glowed, but there were torches on the walls that flared to life as they approached, and then snuffed out behind them.

"Where are we going, anyway?" Casper asked.

"You'll see," Cathal chuckled back at him.

The hallway suddenly began to level out, and they came to a massive, oaken door, studded with metal spikes. Cathal calmly pricked his finger on one of the spikes and pressed it to a carving in the center of the door. Casper thought it looked like a family crest — he could make out a shield, which had a flame at the top, a sword on the left, and some kind of tree on the right. Cathal had his finger pressed to the flame. It wasn't long before the door creaked open. Cathal pushed it inward and walked across the threshold. Casper hesitated, but the torch in the passageway flickered ominously, and he hurried after his friend.

Torches flared to life all around the room, their flames dancing in the drafty cavern, throwing shadows across the dark walls. The craggy walls were lined with shelves; some held books, others were stacked with crates.

"Is this a catacombs?" Casper whispered.

"A what?" Cathal asked.

"Catacombs. It's where they used to bury dead people. There's a wizard catacombs under London — I've seen it."

Cathal shook his head. "No, nothing like that. The only place with anything like that is the chapel — I'll show you later. It's really cool — not scary at all. No, this is a safe room. Once upon a time, when this was a castle even before Brendan's time, they dug underneath it and made this cavern. They kept weapons and three months' worth of food in here."

"Is there another way out?"

Cathal shook his head. "Nah, not that I've ever found. But there are chests full of portkeys." He led Casper over to a door and pulled it open. The room was octagonal, with a stone floor in the middle and a row of big wooden chests on the side. Cathal kneeled in front of one and pressed his finger to the lock, which popped open.

"Wait," Casper put a hand on his shoulder, "you did that before, to get in here. That's blood magic, dark magic, that is — how are you able to do that? Aren't you adopted?"

Casper shrugged. "The ghost told me the castle accepts me as a Hughes, though the portraits don't like it." He shrugged. "Brendan says they're just uptight because they haven't been here so long, like the 18th century or something. Actually," Cathal shot his friend an apologetic look, "he said they all sold out to the English in their time, and that's why they're so snooty."

Casper shrugged, and then gasped as Cathal opened the lid on the trunk.

"That's a lot of portkeys!"

Cathal nodded. "I reckon they had enough for everyone in the castle to escape twice over. So, what do you think? You want to try one?"

Casper stared at him. "But…but," he sputtered, "you have no idea where they go! They could take us out to the middle of the ocean! Or inside a concrete wall!"

"Nah, not possible," Cathal reassured him. "They're all spelled for safety. They won't work at all if they don't take you someplace safe."

"How do you know?"

"Lord Brendan told me."

"Uh huh," Casper said, narrowing his eyes and crossing his arms over his chest. "And how do you know he's not actually an evil, angry ghost who wants to kill you?"

Cathal shrugged. "He hasn't tried to kill me yet, and he seems pretty nice. Anyway, I can sense the safety charm." He reached into the chest and pulled out a wooden disc, which had a sun carved on it. "See?"

Casper hesitantly ran a finger on the outer rim of the circle, and felt a warm tingle.

"Well," he said reluctantly, "I feel something, but I don't know if that's a safety charm."

"It is," Cathal reassured him. "Trust me. Good at sensing spells, remember? Come on — what do you say? Let's try it!"

Casper bit his lip, shooting a glance at his friend.

"Okay," he sighed.

Cathal happily held the disc out and they both grasped it, and Cathal whispered "mobilitates ."

And nothing happened.

Cathal frowned and repeated the spell, but still, nothing happened.

Casper breathed a sigh of relief.

"Must be broken," Cathal muttered, tossing the disc on the shelf and rummaging in the chest for another one. This time, he pulled out a golden disc, hammered flat, with a circle etched in the center. They both grabbed it, and no sooner had Cathal uttered the spell, than they were whisked away in a black swirl.


	16. Chapter 16: Some Enchanted Evening

Cathal felt himself churning through space, almost as though he were being turned inside out and flung across a field. He started to worry that Casper might have been right, that the portkeys were too old to function correctly, when he suddenly burst back into the air and light and thumped to the ground, falling backwards. He and Casper were tangled together in a heap.

"That was awful," Casper groaned.

"I think we must have gone a long way," Cathal said apologetically, sitting up and rubbing the back of his head, which he had bumped against the ground.

They slowly got to their feet and looked around. They were standing on the bank of a river, surrounded by brown, scrubby grass. Across on the other side were fields stretching out, surrounded by forest — there were no signs of a town or of any people at all. Cathal thought they had landed in the middle of nowhere, near to nothing, until he turned around.

He gasped.

"What?" Casper exclaimed, spinning around quickly, and then falling still, mouth open.

A hill rose steeply ahead of them, and just visible at the very top was a massive ruin, with knobby gray stones thrusting into the sky like skeleton fingers.

"Where are we?" Casper whispered dazedly.

"You're in Wales, laddie," a deep, baritone voice hailed them, and they both jumped and turned back toward the river.

A man was standing down the bank from them, a fishing pole over his shoulder and a basket dangling from his fingers. He had on a large brown hat with a floppy, wide brim, which partly covered his face. But they could see a stubbly, dimpled chin, a pleasant mouth with a crooked smile, and long, brown hair curling against the man's neck.

"Wales?" Cathal said nervously, hoping the man hadn't seen them appear out of thin air.

The man nodded, and his smile deepened as he walked toward them, dragging his right leg in a pronounced limp.

"I was just going to do a spot of fishing lads — care to join me?"

Casper and Cathal looked at each other.

"Nothing to worry about, now — it's only fish."

The boys shifted awkwardly as they tried to formulate a polite rebuff.

"Or maybe you would prefer to go see yon castle?" The man nodded toward the hill.

"Is that okay?" Casper asked. "I mean, it's open to the public?"

"Oh, aye," the man answered. "It's open to those as can find their way — a bit of a climb, but the view is well worth it."

"Thank you," Cathal answered. "We'll go take a look. Um, good luck with the fishing, though."

"Thank ye kindly," the man said, pulling on the brim of his hat.

The two boys turned and began to make their way up the hill, moving carefully up the slope.

"He's still watching us," Casper muttered, after sneaking a look over his shoulder.

"Maybe they don't get many strangers here," Cathal responded evenly.

They climbed, the hill steadily growing steeper. Soon, they were both out of breath and had to stop and rest.

"No sign of the fisherman now," Cathal pointed out, as he looked back down at the riverbank, which already seemed very far away.

Casper frowned. "No," he said slowly, narrowing his eyes against the chilly breeze, "no sign at all. Don't you think that's weird? He just…appeared and then disappeared."

"First, you didn't like it that he was watching us, and now you don't like that he's not watching us?"

Casper bit his lip and looked away from his friend.

"Sorry," Cathal said hurriedly, "that came out wrong. I just mean you shouldn't worry so much — everything will turn out just fine." Cathal squeezed Casper's shoulder and started walking back up the slope.

"Nothing ever turns out just fine," Casper muttered at his friend as he hesitated and then sighed and followed.

As they climbed, the boys lost sight of the ruins behind the sharply rising slope. So when they finally hauled themselves over the crest of the hill, more or less crawling on their hands and knees, neither was prepared for the sight that met their eyes.

At the top of the hill stood a massive castle, but it was no longer a tangle of tumbledown gray rock. Great beige blocks of stone soared in a solid wall attached to two bulging turrets with crenulated tops. A wooden portcullis yawned in front of them, its gate open and a planked bridge planted over a deep furrow that encircled the walls. There were no signs of any other people; in fact, there was no sound whatsoever. No birds chirping, no wind blowing. Just stillness and utter silence.

Cathal blinked and stared at the magnificent palace, while Casper swore quietly.

"That is not normal," he declared.

"No," Cathal agreed. "Definitely some magic at work here."

"I don't like it," Casper insisted. "Let's go back. You have a return portkey, right?"

Cathal nodded, absently reaching under the collar of his shirt and pulling out a medallion he wore around his neck. Casper sighed in relief as Cathal held it out to him.

"Domus," Cathal said, looking at the castle wistfully. His fingers and toes tingled briefly, but there was no other reaction to his spell. He frowned down at the portkey in his hand and then back up: they were still standing in front of the castle.

"Domus," he said again, a little louder. Nothing at all happened this time, not even a tingle.

Casper and Cathal stared at each other.

"Something's wrong," Cathal finally said. "It should work anywhere — this is really ancient family magic."

"Well, let's go back down by the river," Casper suggested, "and see if it works better down there."

"Okay," Cathal agreed. But every time the boys turned away from the castle to head back down the hill, they found themselves turned back around, facing the imposing building once again.

They both looked up at the open portcullis, and then back at each other.

"I guess we're going in," Casper finally said.

"Guess so," Cathal agreed.

They walked forward slowly, and Casper stretched out one leg and put his foot down on the drawbridge. He tapped it up and down and then stepped forward until he was standing completely on the wood.

Cathal followed him, and they walked across the ditch and paused at the doorway.

"Here goes nothing," Cathal muttered, and stepped into the castle courtyard, Casper so close behind he actually brushed Cathal's heels with his toes.

As soon as they passed under the archway, the portcullis rolled quietly shut behind them, Casper calling out "oy" and turning to examine the barrier, which was solid wood with no obvious mechanism to open and shut it. Finally, the boys gave up looking for a way to raise the portcullis again and stepped forward into the castle courtyard, a huge open square, with staircases winding along the walls to the ramparts, what looked like stables off to the right — all empty — and multiple doors in front of them. One of those doors suddenly slammed open, causing both boys to jump.

"Come on then," called out a young woman in a roughspun brown dress, so long the hem swept the floor. She had a white wimple covering her head, with what looked like a skinny pillow wrapped around her brow. "Come in! Come in! The festivities are just about to start!"

"Are you talking to us?" Cathal asked her.

"Well, of course I am," she glared at him, hands on hips. "Do you see anyone else here, skulking about? The king will be here any moment, and he won't be happy if you two are still dawdling in the courtyard, now will he?"

"I suppose not," Cathal responded, raising his eyebrows at Casper. "Er, which king is that, by the way?"

The woman rolled her eyes and threw her hands up the air, making a disgusted clucking noise in her throat. After one more glare at them, she hurried back inside, leaving the door ajar.

Casper put a hand on Cathal's arm. "I don't think we should go in there."

Cathal shrugged. "I don't sense any malice here. And besides, I don't think this castle is going to let us go until we see what it wants. Might as well check it out. Come on," Cathal took Casper's hand and pulled him through the door.

It was dark in the interior, and they both blinked furiously, trying to adjust to the gloom.

"Lumos," Casper muttered, illuminating the tip of his wand, forgetting for the moment that he was not supposed to do magic outside of school.

But then the door snapped shut behind them and lanterns flared to life all round the room, including a massive chandelier, which must have held three hundred candles. Along with the light, a wall of sound rose up — of laughter and cheering, clapping and whistling. The room, a giant hall with a long, wooden table and benches, was filled with people.

"Welcome! Welcome!" A portly man in brown leggings and a brown tunic called to them. "You are welcome at our table! Come, you shall be the guests of honor." He gestured to two seats to the right and left of the chair at the head of the table. The chair was dark wood, and although devoid of gilt or jewels, was clearly the seat of a king, with a high three-pronged back and plush red cushion. Cathal and Casper hesitated and then followed the stout man, nodding and smiling nervously at the other dinner guests, who waved and winked, called out greetings and even applauded as the boys trooped past.

"Sit! Do sit," the brown man said, gesturing with a low bow at the two chairs. Cathal nodded and sat down, and Casper followed suit. As soon as they were seated, everyone else sat down, too, and a hush descended over the room. Cathal fidgeted in his seat as the expectant silence stretched on. Casper bit his lip, his eyes constantly sweeping the room.

"The King!" Someone finally called out, and the word echoed up to the ceiling, with the scraping of benches and chairs as everyone pushed back up from the table and knelt, casting their eyes down. The boys both craned their necks to look back at the door they'd come through, but there was no one there.

"Thank you, my people," came a deep voice right next to them, and they both started. A man in a rich, green shirt with a purple cape thrown over his shoulders and a golden circlet pressed into his long brown hair was sitting right next to them in the throne-like chair at the head of the table.

"Thank you — arise and be seated, please. And to our guests, we say welcome. Welcome to our home. We are delighted you could join us for this festival."

The boys stared at the man, who smiled crookedly back at them.

"Wait, I know you," Casper blurted out. "You were that fisherman, down by the river!"

"Oh?" The king responded, one eyebrow arching.

"Well, I…I think so…" Casper said doubtfully.

"A fisherman? Are you quite sure, laddie?"

"It is you!" Cathal exclaimed.

"Indeed," the king allowed cocking his head to the side and chuckling. "There's no fooling either of you."

The table erupted into laughter.

"I apologize for the subterfuge," the kind said, not sounding at all apologetic. "I wasn't sure you'd come if I just invited you straightaway to our feast but figured a little mystery would be more enticing. I really did go fishing, though, for what it's worth."

"How did you get here so fast?" Casper asked suspiciously.

"Your majesty," Cathal added diplomatically.

"Just how you got here," the king responded. Then he leaned forward and whispered, "magic," snapping his fingers.

"We don't know what you're talking about," Casper insisted stoutly.

The king threw back his head and laughed. "Oh, Mr. Sainsbury — that's what you are calling yourself, yes? There are powerful wards all the way out to the river — you wouldn't have been able to arrive at that spot, let alone see the castle, even in it's sad modern state of disrepair, if you weren't both fairly powerful mages."

"Mages?" Cathal asked.

"I believe you call yourself wizards, in your time," the king responded.

"We went back in time?" Casper broke in. "When are we?"

"Oh, you're not really in a specific time, per se," the king answered, waving his hand breezily. "But how rude of me. Allow me to introduce myself: I am King Bran, and this is my humble abode, Dinas Bran."

King Bran then stood and clapped his hands together loudly.

"Let the feast begin!"

Before the king could sit down again, both Casper and Cathal noticed that there was a large, shiny dark stain on the right leg of his breeches. It was unmistakably blood — and it was fresh and still wet. The boys made eye contact across the table.

"Um, King Bran," Cathal said, clearing his throat, ignoring Casper's head shake, "are you alright? You seem to have a cut on your leg."

"Oh? The king said, looking at his goblet as a servant filled it with a dark liquid.

"Yes," Cathal said more firmly. "Your right leg. You're bleeding."

"So I am," the king said. "Thank you for noticing, but there's no cause for concern. Come," he raised his voice, "let us toast to our guests!"

All of the people in the room rose to their feet, Casper and Cathal struggling to rise with them.

"To "Casper Sainsbury," the king made air quotes with his fingers, "and Cathal of House Hughes! Lechyd Da!"

"Lechyd Da!" The room roared back.

Cathal raised the cup to his lips, as Casper desperately tried to catch his eye.

"Wait," Casper shouted, and the room fell eerily silent.

"Yes?" The king asked, all politeness.

"If we drink this, will we be forced to stay here forever?" Casper asked.

The king frowned. "Of course not," he answered primly. "Whyever would you think such a thing? We're ghosts, not tuath de."

"Tuath what?" Cathal asked.

King Bran looked at him, eyebrows raised. "Can it be possible you don't even know your own heritage, Cathal Hughes?"

Cathal blushed bright red. "Well, no," he mumbled, "I'm…I'm adopted."

The king patted him on the shoulder. "Well, rest assured, young squire, you're a real Hughes, and the tuath de are the faerie folk in your ancestral lands. I'm surprised they have not yet called you to them, in fact, but I can assure you that they soon will. And when that happens, Mr. Sainsbury, you would be quite right to decline all hospitality. No such precautions will be necessary here, however. There is nothing compelling, binding, or poisonous in our sustenance. On the other hand, you may find it does not fulfill you in a…lasting way."

"Oh, okay," Casper said weakly.

"Drink up!" King Bran said cheerfully. Casper took a cautious sip even as Cathal tipped the cup all the way back, and immediately started coughing.

"That's…that's alcohol," he sputtered.

"Well, of course," the King answered mildly. "What else would one have at a royal feast? Grape juice?"

The noise level in the room rose again as all the dinner guests began talking and laughing, and somewhere, a piper struck up a lively tune. Casper continued to dart glances around the room and at the king, who pretended not to notice. Cathal cleared his throat.

"You have a question, Mr. Hughes?" the King said, his crooked smile back on his face.

"Yes, your majesty," Cathal answered. "How is that you all speak 21st century English?"

The King chuckled. "What did I tell you? It's magic!"

Everyone around them laughed uproariously.

The king then clapped his hands together loudly, and a door in the side wall sprang open, admitting three men in long, gray robes. The first was carrying a large candelabrum, gripping its base with both hands. Strangely, all of the sockets were empty. Next was a man with a lance, pointing straight up into the air. The blade appeared to be dripping blood, with little rivulets running down the shaft and onto the floor. The final man was carrying a large cup, really more like a small cauldron. It was quite plain, though it appeared to be made out of some roughly hammered metal, unlike the wooden tankards all around the table. This strange procession circled the table once, and then disappeared back into the door from which they had come. Immediately after they disappeared, a long line of marching servants emerged, each bearing large tureens. Cathal looked down and realized there was now a soup bowl in front of him, which he had not noticed before.

The soup was served, and everyone slurped it noisily, all conversation temporarily suspended.

Just as Cathal was taking his last sip of the soup, which was disappointingly bland, the three strange men emerged once again from the door and circled the table, followed immediately by servers bearing platters of meat. One held an entire suckling pig, another a haunch of beef, and there were several platters of whole fish. The last in line held baskets of bread loaves, fragrant steam rising from the crusts.

Cathal and Casper helped themselves to bread and meat, though Casper did not appear to be eating anything. Cathal, however, chewed happily.

"This is great!" he enthused. "Even better than the food at Hogwart's — that's our school." The king nodded. "But who were those three guys who came in first?"

"What do you mean, Mr. Hughes?" The king said, helping himself to an entire fish.

"Oh, you can just call me Cathal," he said cheerfully. "The three guys who went back through the door?"

The king popped a piece of roasted fish into his mouth and looked thoughtfully at Cathal, his eyebrows raised in question.

"You know," Cathal continued, "there was one with that long pole, kind of bloody maybe? And the empty candlesticks, and that big cup, or bowl, or whatever it was. What was all that? Some kind of ancient Welsh ritual or something?"

The room stilled abruptly, and the king froze, staring at Cathal.

"Something, indeed," he murmured.

Suddenly, an icy breeze began to swirl through the hall, blowing the king's long hair around his face. The wind quickly gained velocity, upending plates and knocking over tankards, snuffing out candles and lanterns. Both Casper and Cathal sprang up from their seats as the frigid air whipped at their hair and eyes.

"What's happening?" Casper wailed.

"I don't know!" Cathal called back, throwing his arms over his head and ducking down. The wind swelled into a dark funnel, with a deafening sound of shattering glass and cracking rock. Debris and dirt pelted the boys, accompanied by a rising, shrieking sound, and they both closed their eyes and covered their ears, huddling under the table.


	17. Chapter 17: Do Skulls Have Lips?

_**Dinas Bran really is an old legend — a few liberties, of course, but much of the tale is the real thing.**_

Just when Cathal thought he couldn't take it any more, and was about to scream into the pounding air, the wind suddenly died down. He opened his eyes cautiously, panting, and took his fingers out of his ears.

"Cas," he said hoarsely. Casper was still crouched on the ground, under a table that was no longer there. "Cas, it's okay now. You can look again."

Casper raised his head and gasped.

They were in the middle of a ruin — a very old one, by the look of it. Large, mossy gray stones were all around them, as though a giant had smashed his toy and left the blocks scattered about.

"I guess I said something wrong," Cathal apologized.

"Guess so," Casper sighed, standing up. "Wait, what's that?" He pointed to the ground at Cathal's feet, where there was a small, grayish lump.

Cathal bent over to get a closer look.

"It's a skull," he whispered, reaching for it.

"Don't touch it!" Casper said frantically. "It could be cursed!"

Cathal shook his head. "It's not," he said absently, picking up the skull and examining it.

"Cathal," it hissed, it's hinged jaw moving slightly.

He gasped and dropped it.

"Ow," the skull moaned.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," Cathal said, kneeling next to it. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

"You didn't," it said cheerfully. "Just kidding."

"Wait, what?" Casper asked.

"Just a little graveyard humor," the skull responded.

Casper groaned. "First, we walk into a haunted castle, and now we're being tormented by a skeleton with a bad sense of humor."

"I'm very funny," the skull objected, in a wounded tone, "and I don't know if you noticed, but I seem to be separated from the rest of my bones. Have been for more than a thousand years, don't you know. No skeletons here."

"Who are you?" Cathal breathed.

"King Bran, of course," the skull answered promptly.

The boys stood mutely, looking at the disembodied head.

"What happened to you?" Cathal finally asked.

"Long story," the skull responded, with a dry, scraping sound that could have been a chuckle. "But never mind that now. I need your help."

"Yes," Cathal said, "of course. What do you need us to do?"

"I need you to bury me."

"Bury you?"

"Yes," the skull clicked.

"Um, okay. Where do you want us to bury you?"

"Pick me up and I'll guide you."

Cathal gently lifted the skull, holding it out in front of him, pointing outward.

"You can relax," the skull scolded him, "I don't bite, you know."

Casper made a strange gurgling sound.

"Please, Mr. Sainsbury. Isn't that a muggle supermarket chain, by the way?"

"Where do you want us to take you?" Casper interrupted hurriedly.

"So impatient!" the skull chided. "I've been waiting for you for a long time — I'm not going to rush things now."

Casper groaned.

"Oh, all right," the skull made a gushing sound. "Be that way. Cathal, walk ten paces straight ahead."

Cathal marked out the steps.

"Good. Now 30 paces to the right."

The boys carefully counted the steps, while the skull remained silent.

"Excellent," it said, when they finally arrived at 30. "Now, see that stone, straight ahead of you? The one that comes to a triangular point? That's the keystone. You need to lift it."

"Lift it?" Casper squeaked. "Are you barmy? That thing must weigh a ton!"

"1.874 English tonnes, to be exact," the skull corrected. "And barmy, is it? You're the one having a conversation with a skull."

"Sorry, sir," Cathal said patiently, "but there are only two of us. And, well, we're still rather small. We wouldn't be able to even budge that stone."

"Really?" The skull challenged them. "But you can compress your bodies into sub-atomic particles and hurl your matter through space and time? And you can focus ambient kinetic energy to create illumination? Surely, a small matter, such as levitating a rock, is a pittance. I do believe it's still a first-year spell at Hogwarts."

"How do you know all of this?" Casper demanded. "You're dead!" The skull emitted what sounded suspiciously like a raspberry. "And you're out here, in the middle of nowhere!"

"Not exactly," Bran said, in as smug a tone as a disembodied head could manage. "I am charged with the protection of all of Wales and England, and as such, I am an untethered spirit. I may go where I will, and I can assure you, I have been to Hogwart's many times over the centuries. Indeed, many, many times in recent decades. That school has been quite exhausting for me, you know. Though it is nice to get away from here sometimes."

"Oh," Cathal responded.

"Um," Casper added.

"Well said," the skull clacked. "Now, how about you work together and lift that keystone?"

"Well," Casper shrugged, "we might as well give it a try, I guess."

"Wingardum Leviosa on three?" Cathal asked, and Casper nodded.

"One…two…three: Wingardum Leviosa!"

The stone quivered a bit.

"See?" Casper promptly demanded.

"You didn't really try!" The skull accused them. "You decided before you even waved your wands that you couldn't do it. Magic is all about what you believe, young mages, especially in this place. You absolutely cannot move the stone if you don't believe you can."

Both boys looked at the skull skeptically.

"Well, let me give you further motivation," the skull said slyly. "You won't be able to leave here until you bury me in the cauldron, so figure it out."

Casper cursed under his breath.

"Mr. Sainsbury," it chided, "children your age should not know that particular expression. You wouldn't want to, how do they say it on television, 'blow your cover'?"

"You watch television?" Cathal asked.

"I see all," the skull intoned.

"Except for the Kardashians," he added in a more conversational vein. "I can't stand them. Too fleshy. Bones, now there's a show."

Cathal coughed and Casper groaned and put his head in his hands.

"But enough idle chatter," the skull said. "Best get to work you two, before Cathal's parents wonder where you are."

"We're back in our own time?" Casper asked.

"Indeed."

The boys looked at each other.

"Let's do this," Cathal sighed.

They were both sweating by the time they finally got the stone to move a few feet off the ground, where it promptly tumbled out of the way. They cheered and hugged each other and then looked expectantly at the skull, which Cathal had placed in a niche in a nearby wall.

"There. See? That wasn't so hard."

Cathal smiled.

"You helped," he observed.

"What? No!" The skull remonstrated. "I'm just an empty slab of collagen and carbon! I am unable to interfere with the living."

"Liar," Cathal smiled. "I could feel your magic."

"Well, I was hoping to be buried sometime in this century," the skull responded evenly.

"Wait a minute," Casper said, hands on his hips as he glared at the skull. "If you could lift it all along, why did you even need us? Why not just do it yourself a long time ago?"

"Duhhhhh," the skull responded. "If I could have done it by myself, don't you think I would have? That's the nature of a curse, child, or have you never heard a single fairy tale? It always requires some bizarre, exotic twist in order to make it go away. Now, all I need is for one of you to kiss my undead body down in the crypt, I'll come back to life, we'll get married and live happily ever after in my restored kingdom."

"Ser..seriously?" Casper stuttered.

"Ha ha, no!" a rasping noise emanated from the skull. "You should have seen your face! No, not seriously. I just needed someone to come to the castle, attend the banquet, ask why my standard bearers were carrying such strange items, and then agree to actually move the stone for me and place my skull in the cauldron in the crypt. But you can still kiss me, if you like." The skull made a strange, sucking sound, and Casper put his head in his hands again.

Bran continued, but this time, his voice was soft, floating to them on the breeze that now stirred through the stones. "Thousands of mages have come here over a thousand years and more, and Mr. Hughes here was the very first to even ask about my wounds, let alone what my standard bearers were carrying."

Cathal nodded and picked the skull up off the ground.

"Well, then, let's get you into that cauldron, shall we?"


End file.
